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There’s something about the palace walls, something irregular that gnaws at the edge of your consciousness without biting. Pillars and lines of grout that should remain vertical tilt with vertiginous uncertainty. Sometimes, Goro fails to resist the urge to blink. The world refocuses and the walls snap back into place, but the illusion churns, it oscillates, pressing down against his skin and teasing his gut with nausea.
It’s a hell of a way to spend his final days on Earth.
“I’m sensing something up ahead,” Futaba says, whirring up above in her mechanical contraption. The noise grates against Goro’s skull; it doesn’t help the nausea. “Looks like a powerful shadow. What’s your call, Joker?”
“We can take it,” Akira says, creeping forward. Everyone follows his lead, as always. Goro hangs near the back of the crowd, swallowing a bitter lump in his throat.
Not long ago, it had been just the two of them.
Akira peers around the corner, staring at something not yet seen by the group. He coils down like a cat, slinked against the wall, prepared to pounce. Goro steps up, eager to get into formation. “It looks dangerous,” Akira says. “Be prepared for anything.” He looks at Goro and smiles. Something flutters in Goro’s heart; something miserable gnaws at his esophagus. “Ready?”
“I’m always ready,” Goro growls, eager to get back into the fray—and with that, Akira launches himself up towards the creature’s mask, ripping it free with a sickening crack.
“Titania,” Goro mutters as the shadow takes form. The fairy stares at them all with cold, dead eyes. She sinks down, collapsing into a pile on the floor.
“Oh, what fools these mortals be,” she whispers. Goro bites back a laugh.
“That’s not your line,” Goro says, readying an attack. He glances around, but no more shadows melt into existence. “All alone, are you? Pathetic. It’s almost too easy.”
“Insolent peasant,” she says. Though she remains on the ground, her skin crackles with hazy sparks. “You dare defy our ruler?”
“Careful,” Akira whispers. “Something’s wrong.” Goro glances over, communicating through eye-contact. Goro tries to convey his impatience and frustration; Akira, in turn, conveys an urging for calm.
Goro huffs. “Your ruler is an even bigger fool than you are,” Goro says. “Let’s get this over with.”
Akira swings his arm forward. Dense magic pulses out from within him—a strange hum, a magenta haze. Psychic attack, Goro thinks, fighting a twinge of jealousy. It must be easy to fight shadows when you can target their weaknesses left and right. Goro watches Titania catch the attack, waits for her to drop, but she—
“It bounced off!” Futaba’s machine whirrs above their heads, assessing the situation. “Joker, she’s not weak to psychic damage. You need to try something else.” Obviously, Goro thinks, biting his tongue.
Fortunately, Joker’s not an idiot. “Skull,” he yells. “Ziodyne.”
Goro’s hair stands on end as he braces for the whip-like snap of lightning. It cracks into the tile, sending out a scatter of singed rock. Titania shivers, tosses her head back, and laughs. She doesn’t look like she’s readying an attack, but she hasn’t taken any damage, either.
Fuck, Goro thinks. She’s not going down.
“Violet, try Sword Dance.” Sumire readies her weapon, preparing to leap into action. Goro tuts approvingly. Not a bad move, she’s resisted three magical attacks so far. Sumire’s blade slices into the air, colliding with Titania’s body.
But no matter how hard she strikes, her blade slides across the fabric of Titania’s dress. It doesn’t even leave a mark. “Fools,” she whispers, eyes alight with power. She’s placid in spite of the brawl, and Goro stiffens, prepared for the worst. “Do you know what I am?”
“Don’t bother,” Goro says, heartbeat thrumming against his neck. “We don’t have time.”
“I am a shadow from the Sea of Souls.” She laughs. “I may fade, but I’ll never die. Not in any way that matters.”
“Fair enough.” Goro grins. “In that case, we’ll send you back to wherever the hell you came from. As far as I’m concerned, you can rot there.”
“Crow, Eigaon.”
Goro pulls forward a sickening rush of energy, letting it all out in a dark cloud of resentment—to no avail. Titania dodges and laughs, and bile rises in Goro’s throat. Akira sends out a spell to protect them all from magical attacks.
“Why so defensive? I’m not going to hurt you,” she says.
She attacks again, catching them off guard, and Akira tells Sumire to throw a curse bomb at her. Though it hardly leaves a scratch, it knocks her off of her feet. She wails as she falls to the ground, clawing at the floor.
“I never wanted to fight,” she moans, sinking her fingers against the broken tile. “But I will, if I have to. I’ll fight.”
Akira pauses. “Why? What are you fighting for?”
“Love,” she says. “I fight for love.” An angry noise of disapproval crawls up out of Goro’s throat. Pathetic, he thinks, clenching his fists. I can’t believe we’re wasting our time on—
“We fight for love too, in a way,” Akira says, moving forward with quiet, tempered steps. Goro’s aches to deal with this the old fashioned way, but Akira’s right. They’re weak, they might not be able to beat her with brute force. “Maybe we’re not so different after all.”
“Your friend seems to think otherwise,” the shadow says, lifting her head to glare at him. “But his eyes—I recognize his sadness.” Her glare softens. “You’re like me, aren’t you?”
A hush blankets the hallway. Goro bites back a laugh; he knows what they’re all thinking, and he’s not afraid to say it.
“I’m the least ‘like you’ in this entire palace. You’re projecting,” Goro hisses. “I fight for myself. Nothing more.”
The shadow crackles. “You can’t deny it. I come from the sea of souls, I know how they ache. Everyone wants to feel loved. To feel truly loved. That’s what they call it, don’t they? True love…”
She stares at an unseen abyss, searching.
“There’s no such thing,” Goro deadpans. The shadow growls. “And if there is, I’m not interested.” He glances over. “Why don’t you talk to my friend here? You’ll have more luck with him.”
“He refuses to admit it,” she whispers. “Pathetic.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you think you’re above it?” She laughs. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Oh, you poor, sad thing. You’re so desperate to be loved.” Her eyes glow with the telltale violet of psychic magic. “Don’t deny it. I can smell it on you. You say that true love isn’t real, but you wish that it were, don’t you? You want a taste of it.”
“Don’t fucking test me,” Goro says, reaching for his sword. Akira places a hand on his chest to hold him back.
“I can prove it to you.” She grins, lifting up off of the singed tile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She tilts her head. “It could be just like a fairytale.”
“Believe me, I’m done with fairy tales,” Goro says. “Joker, she’s weak. Let me end this.”
“There’s no need to fight,” she says, lifting her arms. “Just let me—”
“I’m not going to let you do anything—”
“Joker! Something’s wrong, she’s—”
“Crow,” Akira yells, “behind you!”
It happens too quickly to process.
Akira shoves Goro out of the way, sending him sliding across the floor with an angry grunt just as a shadowy vine reaches out from behind to wrap around Akira’s neck.
“No,” Goro says, launching himself back up—but there are more vines now, dank and verdant and slithering around Akira’s body.
“You’re not who I was aiming for,” Titania says, tilting her head. Her eyes blaze magenta as she stares at Akira’s twisting, grunting figure. Pinned to his side, his right arm scrambles helplessly for his blade. “But you’ll do.”
“Hey! Put him down!”
“Leave Joker alone—”
“She’s preparing for a psychic attack—”
Goro stares forward, saying nothing, and thinks—it was supposed to be me.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Joker whispers, “I don’t think she’s…”
“Don’t speak,” she says, a gentle lull that raises the hair on Goro’s neck. He grinds his teeth, leaping forward to slash at the vines, but they refuse, dodging and curling out of the way.
“I’m going to…”
Akira’s head bobs once, twice. His arm twitches, no longer reaching for his blade. Something incomprehensible and vague stumbles out of his lips, and with one last sigh, his body goes limp.
Ryuji lets out an anguished gasp. Sumire screams. Goro squints his eyes, searching for signs of life in Akira’s body.
“He’s not dead,” Goro says, watching Akira’s breath pulse against his chest, slow and steady. “He’s asleep.” Goro tightens his grip on the sword. “What the hell are you playing at?”
The vines continue to circle Akira’s body, writhing like snakes. Ann sprints forward to smack Akira in the face, but he doesn’t move. Someone behind him casts Patra—Goro doesn’t know who, doesn’t really care—to no avail.
“Man, what the hell? Why isn’t it working?”
“It’s too late. Only one thing can wake him, now,” Titania says. The vines lay Akira down, forming a bed beneath his sleeping figure. Little flowers bloom up from in between the gaps, bright blue specks mottling deep green. Powder soft and vibrant, the blooms would be beautiful if they weren’t damned.
“What are you talking about?” Makoto clenches her fists.
“Yeah, jackass.” Ryuji grips his hammer tight. “Tell us how to wake him up. Or else.”
The shadow’s laughter echoes, shrill and broken. “I am humanity’s shade,” she says, “Your hopes, your dreams. I am the stories you tell at night.”
“You’re testing my fucking patience,” Goro says, gritting his teeth.
She turns to look at him, tilting her head with slow, cat-like grace. Goro widens his stance and grips the hilt of his sword. He refuses to look away. She glances up and down his form, yellow eyes narrow, searching. Then, she stops; she smiles. “You can wake him up with love,” she says. “True love.”
A hush falls over the corridor.
“That’s bullshit.” Goro stares at the makeshift bed. Vines wriggle and crawl around the hallway, draping the corridor like streamers. They shiver as they move, leaving petal trails in their wake. Goro’s nose itches. “There’s no such thing as true love.”
Titania lowers herself beside Akira’s limp figure, reaching out to stroke his hair. His mask disappears; his bright red gloves fade away. It’s just Akira, now, wearing his street clothes, fingers splayed uselessly at his sides. “I see,” she says, pushing his bangs away from his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. “Then I guess he’ll never wake.”
Bile rises in Goro’s throat. “Get your filthy hands away from him.”
“It’s okay,” Sumire says, stepping forward. She places a hand on Goro’s shoulder. “We all love Joker. Don’t we? Maybe that will be enough.”
“Not just any love,” Titania says, shaking her head. “A love that’s true.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Goro hisses.
“Do you mean—would it have to be romantic love?” Ann looks around.
“None of this will matter if we kill you,” Goro says, stepping forward with his blade at the ready. “Do you think we’re useless without him? If so, you’re sorely mistaken”
“If you kill me,” Titania says, “he sleeps forever.”
“Liar.” Goro turns to look at the others. “You don’t believe her, do you?”
Nobody answers.
“Crow,” Makoto whispers, “we should think about this. She’s not attacking right now, it looks like she got what she wanted.” The shadow hums, petting Akira’s hair. Goro fantasizes about slicing her fingers off, but stops himself short of doing anything foolish. At least she’s distracted, for now.
“Fine. We just have to take him back to the real world, then,” Goro whispers back, as inaudible as he can manage. “Right?”
“Hell yeah! If we can cut these stupid vines.” Ryuji stares down at his hammer. “Uh. Anyone have a blade?”
“I’ve got it,” Goro says, bracing his wrist against the hilt of his sword. “Skull, keep an eye on Titania.”
Goro steels himself. “True love. Is that it?” He steps forward, looking down at Akira’s sleeping figure. “Fair enough. How are we meant to express it? Nothing as gauche as a kiss, I hope.”
She laughs. “A kiss. I like that,” she says, still petting Akira’s head. Goro bites his cheek. “True love’s kiss.”
“True love’s kiss,” Goro says, gnawing on every word. He looks down at the vines, calculating. He’ll have to be careful, but if he strikes just right…
He smirks.
In a single swipe, he slashes at the vines that pin Akira down, praying for them to break and unfurl. They do—they snap like wires, just as Goro imagined—but they reform in an instant, and Akira’s body jolts as though struck by lightning.
Titania tuts. “Look at what you did to the poor boy.”
Goro’s body tenses. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She tilts Akira’s head to the side. A crimson stream of blood trickles down out of his mouth, landing on a pillowy patch of flowers. Goro watches it glisten as it falls, swallowing a rush of panic. Fuck. “The vines are part of him, now.” She plucks a flower from its stem, laughing when Akira twitches. “You can’t hurt one without hurting the other.”
Another hush falls over the corridor.
“What are we going to do?” Haru steps up to the bed of vines, her dainty arms pulled in to cradle her body. “We made it a long way today. Maybe we should—”
“We can’t leave him!” Ann steps up, glaring down at Titania.
“I’m not saying that I want to leave him! I’m saying that—”
“I’m not sure we have a choice,” Makoto says. “We’re weak.”
“No. I’m not just going to—“
“We’re not going to leave him,” Goro says. Stillness settles in among them; nobody dares to speak. “We’re near a safe room. We can talk there. Oracle, I trust you’ll know if their position changes?”
She nods. “I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Good.” Goro turns away from the shadow, away from the bed of vines, away from Akira’s limp body and blood-stained lips. “Let’s go.”
“And so, the handsome prince kisses the beautiful princess,” she says, swooping down to plant a kiss on Goro’s cheek. He laughs, squirming away. “Awakening her from her terrible slumber with the power of true love.”
She flips the page. Goro considers the words, turning them around in his head.
“And the king—”
“Mom,” Goro says, looking up at her. “What makes it true?”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“It’s called true love. That’s what you said.” He reaches forward to flip back a page, pointing down. “See? It’s right here.”
“You’re too clever for your own good,” she sighs. “It’s true love because it’s—because it’s real.”
“Isn’t all love real?” His mother’s body goes still, tense. He curls in closer, unsure what he said wrong. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She pets his hair. He leans into the touch. “No, Goro. Not all love is real. Not all of it is true.”
“Oh,” Goro says. “How do you know the difference?”
She hums, tapping a finger against her chin. He leans in, waiting for the answer to come. “It would be easier if the prince didn’t love the princess,” she says. “But he does anyway. Even though they might never get to be together, even though it’s not easy, they choose to love. That’s what makes it special.”
Goro stares down at the illustration, lifting his hand to touch the princess’s silky black hair. The glossy paper sticks to his fingertips, threatening to flip the page. He pulls away. “But the prince and the princess live happily ever after, don’t they?”
“Yes. They do, in the end.” She smiles. “Of course, the prince doesn’t know that, does he? Not on this page. Everything in the whole world seems to be fighting against them.” She taps his nose. “But he loves her anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because his love is true.” She smiles. “That’s what I think, at least. What do you think?”
Goro blinks up at her. “Huh?”
“What do you think makes it true?”
“I don’t know,” Goro says. “Maybe because the prince doesn’t know if she’ll wake up or not. They can’t live happily ever after if she’s dead.”
“You’re right,” his mother laughs. “But in that case, why hold onto hope? Why not find someone else to live happily ever after with?”
“No!” Goro’s stomach lurches. “They can’t! It’s not right. If I had a princess,” Goro says, leaping up onto his feet, “I’d save her!”
“Goro,” his mom laughs, “don’t stand on the bed.”
He plops back down. “I’d kiss her, just like the prince did. I wouldn’t give up. I’d slay the evil dragon, and cut all the vines away, and climb up to the tower. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m sure you would, Robin Hood.” She kisses his forehead. “Always thinking about what’s right, aren’t you? Always dreaming about how things should be.” He preens. “For now, you should settle down. It’s time to sleep.”
He huffs. “I don’t want to sleep yet.”
Later, he’ll think about how tired she must have been. Lumpy bags under half-lined eyes, cigarette smoke clinging to limp hair.
“How about this,” she says. “Lie down and figure out how you’d save your princess. Make sure to work out every detail.”
“Okay,” he sighs. It seems like a trick, but his mind is already racing. It sounds so exciting to save someone like that, to push through all of those obstacles and become a hero. True love. It’s hard to imagine, but he knows that it’s real, he can feel it in his chest. It’s as real as justice, and strength, and rightness.
He falls asleep clinging to the unassailable warmth of that truth.
“You’re all forgetting something important—there’s no such thing as true love,” Goro says. “It’s nothing more than an idealistic fantasy. A story for children.”
The room ignores him. They’ve been at this for a while now.
“Maybe we should all take turns,” Ann says, resting her dainty face on one palm. “With, uh. You know.”
Ryuji coughs. “You mean the girls, right? The girls should take turns kissing him.” Ann whacks his shoulder.
“Seriously?! This is Akira we’re talking about! We have to do whatever it takes. Nobody said it had to be romantic.”
“True love,” Haru says, tucking her puffy hair behind one ear. “It doesn’t seem real, does it? It’s like something out of a book.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Goro mutters.
“We aren’t getting anywhere with this!” Morgana flicks his tail, spreading his paws to brace against the table. “Does anyone have any reason to believe that they could wake up Akira? Someone who—you know.”
“Someone who’s already been kissing him,” Ann sighs. The room goes silent. Goro looks up, glancing around at a sea of forlorn faces. He half expects to see a flicker of hope, or a dawning realization, or the dark red stain of embarrassment.
There’s nothing. Goro’s heart picks up. “I’m tired of this,” Goro says, moving toward the door. “Call me if you figure out what you’re doing. Until then, I’m going home.”
“What!? You can’t just leave!”
“I'm sure you’ll manage without me.”
Goro swoops out of the door, pressing into the unforgiving corridor of shifty white tiles. I can’t believe it, he thinks. Nobody stepped forward. He laughs, feeling his breath puff against his helmet, warm and real. He breathes in. Breathes out. The breath continues to exist, a simple proof of life against all odds.
What would Akira do? He sighs. Something brave and selfless, no doubt. Idiot. He’s the sort of man who would believe in true love. More than that, he’s a man of action. Akira would lean down for a kiss without hesitation, chaste and respectful, just in the one-in-a-million chance that it might work. Knowing him, it would work. Things seem to just work when Akira does them.
He moves down the corridor. Nothing blocks his path. The walls continue to ebb and churn, but he grits his teeth and presses on.
True love.
Two sets of criteria. The first, that Akira be loved. The second, that it be true. Goro laughs to himself. Sometimes it feels like everyone loves Akira, once they get to know him. He makes it too easy.
He steps up to the corner and peers around it. Akira’s still asleep, the shadow nowhere to be seen. Goro keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword.
It’s easy enough to love Akira, but what would make it true? The shadow wouldn’t have created such a specific circumstance without resolution in mind. Shadows are often cruel without malevolence—they each follow their own logic. Flawed logic, but logic nonetheless.
Does it need to be pure and untainted? Chaste? Romantic? Familial? There’s got to be more to it than mere truth. Does it need to be eternal? That’s impossible to know; psychic magic detects the whims of the present, but no one can see the future. Not even a shadow.
Can they?
Goro swallows, stepping up to the platform. Akira’s still asleep. Mask gone, eyes shut, hair falling up and away from his face. He’s beautiful. Of course he is, he’s always beautiful. Anyone would think that. Goro looks away. He breathes. Then, he lowers himself to sit beside Akira on the platform of vines.
“You’re an idiot for doing that,” Goro says, refusing to look down at Akira’s sleeping face. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Goro laughs. “Then again, why should I care?”
Silence.
“I wonder—will you remember this when you wake up?” Akira doesn’t move. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure out how to wake you,” Goro says. He swallows. “Hopefully without bowing to the pathetic whims of a shadow.”
He laughs. “Although, it might not be too difficult. They all love you, don’t they? You’re their brave leader, after all.” He pauses. “Everyone loves you.”
Swallowing, he notes that ‘everyone’ includes himself.
He doesn’t correct the statement.
“Crow,” Akira laughs, sitting against the edge of the table. “You can sit down.”
Goro leans against the wall, forcing himself to maintain a calm, unhurried breath. He lifts his chin, keeps his back ramrod straight, and tries not to let the bone-deep tiredness show. “I’m fine.”
“Hm. Fair enough.” Akira reaches up into a stretch, moving over to lean against the wall beside him. Goro’s muscles tighten, unused to the closeness.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m exhausted,” Akira says. He doesn’t sound exhausted at all. Fucking liar, Goro thinks. “You’re not. This must be your secret, huh?” Akira bumps their shoulders together.
“What secret? I’m just leaning against the wall.” Goro bites his lip, grateful for the dark veil of his mask. “Also, you’re standing too close.”
Akira moves away. “My bad.” Still too close, Goro thinks, but it’s a reasonable enough distance that he can’t bring himself to say anything about it.
“Goro—” Akira stops. “Nevermind. How does your eye feel?”
“It’s fine.” In truth, the injury still throbs, lingering proof of a nasty blow to the face. “I’ve had worse.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got ointment.”
“No thank you.”
Akira sighs. “Everything counts against you in the metaverse. I don’t let my team suffer a paper cut if I can help it.”
“Your ‘team’ isn’t here right now. I am.” Goro freezes, realizing how that must sound. Akira inhales, pauses, and laughs through his nose.
“Low blow.”
Goro opens his mouth—and closes it. It’s better this way, he reasons. Better not to let him get too close. I’ll be gone soon, anyway. It won’t matter then.
The truth, however, is unavoidable: Goro no longer enjoys causing Akira pain. He no longer enjoys taunting him, not beyond simple boyish pestering. It’s strange, accepting something so simple.
“I’m sorry. I was simply stating a fact,” he says, softening the blow without pulling his punches. “As long as we’re here, we’re equals. I’m not a phantom thief.”
“Fair enough.” Akira sighs. “Let’s help each other like equals, then.” He takes off his coat and begins to lift off his shirt, and—
“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Goro winces at the mottled cloud of crimson that stretches down his spine. “Oh.”
I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to hurt, he realizes, aching at the sight. He steps away, bracing himself as though the realization could bite. I don’t want him to be in pain.
Akira turns around to set aside his coat and shirt. Before he does, he pulls a tube of Takemi’s ointment out of his pocket. “Take off your helmet.”
“What?”
“We can help each other. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
Goro frowns. “Your back looks bad enough as it is.” He tries not to glance down at Akira’s bare chest, unbruised and perfect, lightly dusted with sweat. “I’d hate to add insult to injury.”
“We need to keep ourselves at full health if we want to keep going.” Akira uncaps the medicine. They stare at each other for a moment while Goro gnaws the inside of his cheek. “I can do it myself if I have to, but if we—”
“No.” Goro shucks off his gauntlets, tossing them onto the table. “Give me that,” Goro hisses, snatching the tube away, eager to get this over with. “Turn around.”
Akira does. “You don’t have to—uh, Takemi’s medicine works fast, and you don’t need much of it.”
Goro stares at the injury. He sighs. I don’t want you to hurt, Goro thinks, unable to say it. “Hold still,” he grits out, applying the slippery ointment to his fingers. “You should be more careful, you know.”
“I’ll be fine.” Akira hisses as Goro’s fingers make contact with his upper back, spreading the ointment with a precise, diligent hand. “We have plenty of supplies.”
“They won’t do us any good if you get yourself knocked out,” Goro says, watching the bruise disappear. It’s incredible how easy it is. Goro winces and bites his tongue, remembering the injuries that he couldn’t just wish away. “You should be more careful.”
“I am,” Akira says, laughing. The bruise is almost gone now. “I promise.”
Goro’s hand lingers for a moment too long. I don’t want you to hurt, he thinks, pouring the thought through his fingertips. It’s an unanswered prayer, a mantra in an unknown language. He drags his thumb, pretending to find another swathe of bruises.
With horror, he resists the urge to lean down and kiss an unblemished patch of skin.
“Right,” he says, pulling away. “All better.”
Akira turns around. “Take your helmet off,” he says. “I should return the favor.”
“Don’t,” Goro says, scoffing, “I can do it myself. It’s just my face, it’s not like it’s hard to reach.”
“You might get in your eyes,” Akira says, snatching the tube of ointment away. Goro’s heart hammers against his chest. “Just let me.”
“I don’t—”
“It’ll be over before you know it.”
Goro sighs. “Alright.” He removes his helmet, shaking out his hair. Biting his tongue, he closes his eyes and hopes he isn’t blushing. “Be quick. We need to get moving.”
“Relax,” Akira says, stepping forward. Goro can’t see him, but he can feel him. His heart picks up. Their faces must be so close right now. He can feel Akira’s breath. Don’t fucking think about it, he tells himself, don’t you fucking dare. “I’ll be quick.”
When Akira’s thumb makes contact, he jolts and realizes that he’s never been touched like this before, not since he was a child. Not since his mother; with his eyes closed, he can almost smell the perfume and stale cigarettes. It’s difficult to make sense of without sight. He feels the ointment, slick and cool. He feels the palm of Akira’s hand, the soft pad of his thumb.
As promised, he doesn’t get any in Goro’s eye.
“There’s no need to be so gentle,” Goro whispers. “I won’t break.”
“I know,” Akira says. He continues to stroke, working the ointment up onto Goro’s temple. “But I still don’t want to hurt you.”
Goro doesn’t want to hurt him either. “I can’t feel the bruise anymore,” he whispers.
Akira hums. “It’s gone,” he says, running his hand down Goro’s face. Goro shivers.
“Akira—”
“Open your eyes.”
Against his better judgment, Goro obeys. When he realizes how close they are, he flushes in spite of himself.
“What are you doing?”
Akira moves in closer, glancing down. It’s obvious what he wants to do. “Can I?”
Goro swallows. He never had the opportunity to engage in any teenage dalliances, always careful not to besmirch his cultivated image. He doesn’t know what it feels like to kiss or be kissed. He looks up into Akira’s eyes—back down. Licks his lips. Goro Akechi, the detective prince, never found out what it feels like to kiss someone. He died before he got the chance.
Now, living in that death, he knows.
“Wait,” he hisses, breaking away. “We can’t.”
“I know,” Akira says. “I’m—”
“Akira—”
“But if you—”
Goro grabs him by the face. “Don’t. I’ll hurt you.” Akira goes still, face frozen between Goro’s shaking fingers. It’s not a threat, even if it sounds like one. “Please.”
For a moment, they don’t move.
“What does that mean?”
Goro swallows. It means that Goro winced at the sight of a bruise on a man he tried to shoot in the face. It means that whenever they’re in battle, Goro keeps an eye out, ready to push Akira out of the way. It’s an apology that Goro refuses to put into words; it’s a confession. It means that he can’t promise Akira anything, because he’s supposed rotting somewhere, either in a grave or a prison cell.
It’s a realization, too.
“It means I can’t.”
Goro Akechi, the detective prince, never cared about anyone enough to worry that they might get hurt. Never loved anyone enough. His mind curls up around the feeling, clinging to it like a child who still believes in the righteousness of heroes.
Akira reaches up, touching Goro’s wrist. They’re still too close, wrapped up in a lover’s embrace. His lips haven’t quite forgotten the kiss. “Why not?”
Goro closes his eyes. Once, he was a child. He believed in truth and justice. He believed in goodness unto others. Honor meant something to him—honor, valor, righteousness. Brave heroes with picturesque ethics who may fail, but never stray. Eventually, ‘doing the right thing’ became a privilege, a luxury he often couldn’t afford. Only one ‘right’ thing mattered.
Here, with Akira holding him, he feels like a child again.
“Let me rephrase. I can,” he whispers. “But I won’t.”
I won’t, he thinks, because it would hurt you.
Akira steps back. “Alright,” he says, brushing it away like it never happened. “Let’s keep going.”
Goro nods. They can’t bring themselves to look at each other. Goro’s heart pounds, his hands shake. He wants to drag Akira back in, aches for it with such gut wrenching intensity that his heart starts swimming in his head. If this is love, he thinks, no wonder people feel the need to write songs. He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he wishes he could do something, anything.
He grits his teeth and swallows the feeling down. It churns, unwilling to depart.
“Right,” he says. “Let’s keep going.”
“Everyone loves you,” Goro repeats, bowing his head. “It’s infuriating, you know. You’ve got an utterly neutral presentation, don’t you?” Goro peers over at Akira’s sleeping face. There’s so much he’s wanted to say; he realizes that, right now, there’s nothing stopping him. He leans down. “Neutral. What a lie. I’ve seen the way you fight. I think you might be just as bloodthirsty as I am. Angry at the world.”
No answer. Goro swallows.
“I never wanted to kill you, you know. Not specifically. But I wanted to defeat you, and I knew that you had to die. I’m a pragmatist.” Goro breathes. His heart pounds.
The vines rise and fall with Akira’s breath, almost imperceptible.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he whispers, leaning down over Akira’s sleeping face. It doesn’t twitch. He laughs. “I wanted to save the world. And look at you,” Goro reaches forward to brush Akira’s bangs up. “You’re the man who actually did.”
Jealousy gnaws at his gut. “Part of me does want to kill you for that,” he says. “But I couldn’t. Not anymore. Something changed, when I…” Goro shakes his head. Waking up after the engine room felt like waking up from a nightmare. Something shifted inside of him. It didn’t change, not really, but it shifted.
Akira told him about everything that happened. Goro wonders how strong Yaldabaoth’s influence had been; he wonders how much it destroyed him. On the other hand, wonders if it destroyed him at all, wonders if his newfound clarity is the result of Maruki’s tampering rather than Yaldabaoth’s defeat. Either this is his true self, and he spent his teenage years under the thumb of a childish god, or his true self died a miserable death in the engine room of a man-child’s cruise ship.
He’s not sure which reality he despises more.
“Don’t mistake me,” he clarifies, leaning back. “I’m not—I did what I thought I had to do. I had my reasons, even back then.” His heartbeat picks up. “Not that any of it matters anymore. Nothing matters, does it?”
Goro looks down at his own shaking hands. “Akira,” he says. “Please wake up.”
Akira doesn’t stir.
“Fuck,” Goro hisses. “I hate this. I hate that I—I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s irrational. It’s not like it will make a difference in the end, anyway. But I—“
“You came back.”
Goro’s blood runs cold. “What are you doing here?”
Titania approaches, kneeling down on the ground. “I knew you’d come back,” she says, her wide yellow eyes pulsing magenta. “You’re like me.”
“I don’t know why you keep saying that,” Goro whispers. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Why not?” Her face contorts in distress, strange lines forming in place where wrinkles shouldn’t exist. She makes an incomprehensible noise. “I know what it’s like.”
Goro rises. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Love,” she says.
“Why the hell should I love him?” Goro points at the sleeping figure, unwilling to look. “I shouldn’t love someone that I—I shouldn’t love him.”
Titania grins. “I never said you loved him. Did I?”
“Don’t play games, I knew what you were implying.” Goro places a hand on his sword. “It’s not like it would matter if I did. What, do you think we’re going to live happily ever after? Is that it?”
Her eyes pulse bright violet. “The prince doesn’t know, does he? Not on this page. Everything in the whole world seems to be fighting against them.”
The memory assaults him. “Keep my mother’s words out of your fucking mouth.” Goro pulls out his sword, pointing it at the shadow’s chin.
She doesn’t blink. “But,” she says, “he loves her anyway.”
Goro moves to slice his sword against the shadow’s neck, but he’s too slow. She pulls back and ducks out of the way, hair swaying with underwater grace as sickening waves of energy pulse out of her skin.
He takes a deep breath and dives in for another attack.
“Maybe because the prince doesn’t know if she’ll wake up or not,” she says, dodging the attack. “They can’t live happily ever after if she’s dead.”
Goro pauses, chest heaving. His eyes slip shut. “If you’re trying to draw a comparison,” he says, “you’re mixing things up a bit. Who’s really asleep? Him, or me?” He readjusts his grip on the sword. “Am I the princess or the savior?” He narrows his eyes. “I’m not even sure that I’m real.”
She blinks. “You’re at least as real as I am.”
He blinks up at her. For the first time, he notices something, something about her wide yellow eyes, something he recognizes. He laughs. “Right,” he says. “But what if it’s not—what if the love itself is fake? Maruki could’ve made it up. It could be made of—of false memories and planted feelings.”
He lowers his sword. “If they’re real, I won’t live long enough to do anything about it. If they’re fake, then this is a nightmare. That’s why I can’t kiss him. You understand, don’t you? We can’t live happily ever after. If I truly loved him,” he says, tripping on the word, “I would accept that.”
She leans forward. “But you still hold onto the feeling, don’t you?”
Goro doesn’t answer.
Her eyes widen, glistening and hopeful. “I told you,” she says. “We’re the same.”
Goro stares into her eyes as a realization trickles down his spine. In a way, Titania is right. They are the same. Goro Akechi might have the capacity for reason, but he also has the capacity to be unreasonable. He knows that, now. For every ounce of his cold pragmatism, he swallows an ounce of blazing fury. For every ounce of clarity, an ounce of uncertainty. And for every ounce of hatred—
“I want to believe in it,” he whispers. “I want it to be real.”
“I am thou,” she says. “Thou art I.”
Goro closes his eyes as she brightens and disperses into scattered pulses of light. When the mask forms in his hand, he chokes on a bitter, pained laugh. Surely it can’t be that simple, he thinks. He looks over at Akira, still asleep on the bed of vines. Then, he blinks down at the mask.
The mask pulses in his hand, warm and comforting. The shadow curls up around the bleeding half of his torn heart, the half that gave him Robin Hood. Having been understood, she seems relaxed. At peace.
Goro ponders this. Akira’s good at understanding other people, he thinks, maybe that’s why collecting the masks comes so naturally to him.
Fuck, he realizes. Akira.
He tucks the mask away and rushes over, shaking Akira’s shoulders. “Wake up,” he says, gritting his teeth, “come on, wake up.”
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
Goro groans. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to wake him up.” He turns around. The phantom thieves stand in a line, shifting on their feet and glancing back and forth at one another. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We, uh,” Ann says, “we were going to try to wake him up. Like the shadow said.”
“Nobody has any reason to believe that they stand a more significant chance of waking him up,” Makoto says. “But we all care about him. Maybe that’s enough.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to try,” Ryuji says. “But we’re going to. I don’t care if it’s weird,” Ryuji says. He’s blushing, but he’s got his arms crossed over his chest in firm resolve. “It’s what we have to do.”
Goro pauses to consider. They could be right; maybe their love would be enough. That would be better. Less complicated. Goro looks away from Akira’s sleeping face, closing his eyes.
He takes a deep breath.
True love.
Goro doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive. He doesn’t know what will happen after they finish this. He doesn’t know if his love is real, but surely if it were all fake, his poisoned mind wouldn’t allow him to question it. Right? Maruki wouldn’t risk it. In that case, there’s a solid chance that it’s real. But the uncertainty gnaws at him. He’s too worn down to wrap his mind around any of his thoughts, his feelings.
Still, he knows that—in the face of this false reality, tangled up in this horrifying, nauseating world—he wants their love to be true.
“I’ll go first,” Goro says.
Nobody moves. Goro hears them whispering amongst themselves, but he pays them no mind, kneeling down beside the bed of vines. He doesn’t allow himself to think, to consider how these next few minutes might play out.
He takes a breath and leans down.
It’s nothing like kissing Akira while he’s awake; he’s a force to be reckoned with, lively and electric. Now, he’s stagnant. Cold. Goro reaches to cradle his cheek, desperate for him to come back.
Goro pulls away. Akira’s eyes remain shut.
Oh, Goro thinks. He stands up, steps away. Oh.
“Right,” he whispers. “Of course not.”
And then Akira twitches; he groans. The vines, once tight, begin to curl away, freeing Akira to sit up and rub his eyes. He opens them and blinks up at Goro; he smiles.
“Oh. Hey,” he says, grinning. “Thought I might be dreaming.”
Goro fights a blush, masking it with a scowl. He tries not to think about their audience. “What do you remember?”
Akira stands up, brushing himself off. He’s still in street clothes, and he looks a bit pale, but he seems fine. “Bits here and there. Kind of fuzzy.”
Goro grabs him by the shoulders. “Don’t do that again,” he says. “We need you alive. I don’t plan to spend the rest of eternity under Takuto Maruki’s thumb. Do you understand me?” Akira nods, smiling.
Goro turns back to the group. They’re staring; nobody seems to know what to do. “We should leave,” Goro says. “It’s been a long day.”
They all look at each other. “Right,” Ann says. “Okay! Yeah, we should—go. We can talk about this—“
“Never,” Goro says, brushing past them. He doesn’t listen as they titter amongst themselves, fussing over their newly-awoken leader. They make it to the entrance in record time, and Goro refuses to linger, taking off into the night.
Akira follows him.
“Goro,” he yells, running to catch up.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Goro says.
“I know,” Akira says.
“The others told you what happened, I’m sure.” Goro takes a breath. “But we need to take Maruki down. Don’t allow this to change anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
Akira moves in—not for a kiss, but for a hug. Goro flounders with his arms for a moment, unsure what to do. I’m the end, he remains still, arms pressed against his sides. He doesn’t say anything. After a few seconds, something powerful rises up in his gut, an emotion that he can’t quite name. He clenches his fists and tries to breathe. Even though he doesn’t reciprocate, Akira continues to hold him, warm and firm.
“I heard what you said to the shadow,” Akira whispers. “I hope it’s real too. No matter what. I hope this is real.” He laughs. “I want it to be.”
“Akira,” Goro says. “I…”
In spite of everything, he can’t bring himself to say it. He wonders if he’ll live to regret the fact.
“When this is over,” Akira says, “you should visit me. In my hometown. I’ll show you where I grew up.”
Goro curls his limping heart around the offer. True love, he thinks. It’s hard to imagine what that’s supposed to mean. Perhaps the term is misleading—but he knows that this feeling must be real. There’s a weight to it that presses against his chest. It’s as real as his pain, and weakness, and all the things he’s seen and done in his pathetic excuse for a life.
“I would like that,” he whispers.
(That night, he falls asleep clinging to the unassailable warmth of that truth.)