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The summer after the best and worst year of Akira’s life, he went back to visit Tokyo again.
It wasn’t that tough to convince his parents. After he’d come back from probation, they treated him much like they had before: like he didn’t exist, with only the occasional inquiry as to his grades or relationship status. With his good grades and glowing work record, he’d likely be able to get into the same university Makoto was going to, and his parents were more than happy to kick him out for the summer so that he could visit the place.
But it obviously wasn’t about the university. It was about the people he’d met, the Phantom Thieves, his confidants, his new pseudo-family they’d all stitched together out of broken pieces and loose ends. It was about walking back into Leblanc again, the scent of coffee and warmth of home hitting him as his friends ran to greet him and as Sojiro said an “Ah, you’re back,” that carried so much more weight than it ever had before.
He always knew he would go back. That was never a question, never a conscious decision he had to make. It was simply a fact. But even so, as he sat down at a booth with Ryuji and Futaba pressed up to his sides, Ann demanding they go out for crêpes, Morgana chattering away about all the things he wanted to do in Tokyo again, Sumire chiming in with a mention of the summer festival, Haru slicing some home-baked bread for everyone, Makoto enquiring about his plans for his major, and Yusuke holding his hands out to frame the spirited scene like a treasured work of art… Akira felt like he had chosen correctly.
But in the back of his mind, that voice he’d been pushing away for months whispered, There’s something missing, isn’t there? Someone you’re all too willing to forget.
***
It was a few days into his visit that Futaba dropped the bomb on him.
“His apartment’s still there. I don’t know why, but someone’s still paying for it, even though he’s gone.” Futaba was tapping away at her computer, eyebrows furrowed in focus as she pulled up some housing records.
Akira didn’t have to ask who “he” was.
“Do you think the conspiracy’s doing something with his place?” Akira asked from where he sat on Futaba’s bed. He hoped his voice wasn’t too strained, that his nervousness wasn’t spilling into his words too much.
“I’ve been looking at the records, but there haven’t been any complaints of strange behavior or strangers entering the complex,” Futaba replied, shrugging. “I don’t know how much we can trust that info, but the security footage from the last few weeks hasn’t shown anyone going in or out.”
Akira stood up, peering over Futaba’s shoulder at the screen. “Kazuo Tanaka? How do you know it’s Akechi?”
“The conspiracy did just about everything using false names. Lotta guys named Tanaka, Takahashi, Suzuki… you know. Pretty much all of them were aliases. Anyway, I found some old footage of him entering and leaving the place back when he was around, and it’s by Kichijoji, which makes a lot of sense. The rent is still being paid by an account that might be linked back to Shido, and it’s possible that they just forgot to cancel it when Akechi disappeared.”
Akira hummed. “Want me to check it out?”
Futaba tapped her finger against her cheek, leaning back in her chair and almost bumping into Akira. “You probably shouldn’t. It looks like there’s nothing too sketchy happening over there, and if whatever’s left of the conspiracy is planning something, we should probably wait until we get better evidence before breaking into buildings.”
“Aww, I thought you liked having me go on quests and commit crimes,” Akira said jokingly, though there was a layer of genuine disappointment he didn’t quite manage to hide.
Futaba whirled around, scowling. “I do, but you’ve only just gotten back here! You already spend too much time dwelling over the past, and I won’t stand for it!” She jabbed him in the chest a few times as she spoke. “I just wanted to look into it, cause… I don’t know, I got a bit anxious about Shido’s guys again and I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. Not because I wanted you to poke around in Akechi’s business.”
Akira laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just… ugh. Never mind.”
Futaba gave him a meaningful look, slightly tilting her head to the side. That frown was still on her face, but it had softened into something a bit more like concern. Akira looked away.
“I get that you miss him,” Futaba started, stiffening like she did whenever she wasn’t quite sure if she should speak up, or what she was allowed to say. “But I don’t think he’d want you to mope about it. He made his choice, and he wanted us to respect that. And we all do.”
For a second, Akira was back in February, face-to-face with a dead boy, one who insisted on staying dead. One who claimed he was a puppet, one who thought he only ever lived under the thumb of others, and Akira wanted to grab him and shout in his face, to show him the light in his eyes and the strength that only he possessed, that belonged to Akechi and Akechi alone, that this body was not just a puppet on strings but was flowing with life, that it carried the same boy he cared so much about-
And he shook the memory away. Not here, not now. If Futaba noticed that he zoned out, she had the decency not to mention it.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I won’t touch his place, I’ll respect that.”
Futaba nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”
There was a pause.
“They released a new Featherman multiplayer game last month,” Futaba said, determined to change the subject. “I’ve played with Ryuji a few times, but he totally sucks at it.”
Akira smirked. “So you want me to try it so you can kick my ass too?”
“Exactly! I’ll get my copy and we can head to Leblanc. You are going down!”
***
“So, you checked in with Futaba, right?” Morgana asked from Akira’s bag, staring up at the apartment building. “She knows we’re checking out the place?”
“Totally,” Akira replied, glad he remembered to shut his phone off.
“Alright, then let’s do this!”
In hindsight, it was probably not the best idea to bring Morgana along on this journey. The chances of the cat accidentally telling someone about his trip to Akechi’s apartment were too high, and Morgana was very likely to judge him if he knew the real reasons for the visit. But when Akira finally decided to go, it occurred to him that if Shido’s conspiracy was somehow using the place for their crimes, Morgana’s company would be invaluable for snooping around, and might let him get help if things went south.
(Morgana’s company would also stop Akira from doing anything weird in Akechi’s apartment. Not that he thought he’d do anything especially bizarre, but on the off chance that Akira’s impulses told him to steal Akechi’s sweater vests or his skincare supplies or something, Morgana could act as a preventative measure and minimize his future embarrassment about the whole ordeal.)
The two made their way into the building, thankful that there was nobody in the main lobby. There were two elevators at the other side of the room, and Akira stepped into one of them, pressing the button for the 5th floor with nervous resolve.
“So, what kinds of stuff do you think we’ll find in there?” Morgana asked him, eyes glowing. The cat still had his strange love for infiltrations and treasure, and Akira didn’t have the heart to tell him that a random apartment building would never be quite as exciting or as high stakes as a Palace.
Instead, he shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Futaba said there probably wouldn’t be any of Shido’s stuff lying around here, so we’re just making sure. Probably just gonna be a normal apartment though.”
The elevator doors creaked open, and Akira stepped out into the hallway. He walked down the hall, each door indistinguishable from the last except for the number hanging in the middle. They eventually reached their target: room 524. The place his rival had lived, the place Akira never got to see even after knowing Akechi all that time. He wondered if anyone else ever got to see the apartment before, or if Akechi just never let people get that close.
“You brought a lockpick?” Morgana asked.
“Of course.”
As it turned out, picking locks in the real world was much more nerve-wracking than it was in the Metaverse, and Akira found himself glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure none of the neighbors came out and saw a random teenager breaking into an apartment he didn’t own. The lock opened quickly, though, and Akira shuffled inside and shut the door.
The apartment was calm and quiet. It was extremely clean, even painfully so, like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. It had the same clean-carpet smell as the lobby and the hallways did, though inside there was a slight undertone of rot. Perhaps Akechi left a meal out in February or something, and had never gotten the chance to come home and clean it up.
“Yeah, this place looks pretty boring,” Morgana said, jumping out of Akira’s bag. “I’m still gonna have a quick look around though. I’ll call you if I find anything!”
“Alright,” Akira replied as Morgana trotted around the corner.
He thought he would feel something upon entering the apartment. The whole way here, he had wondered if there were any discoveries he could make about the boy, see things he had hidden away his whole life, if there would be anything that could help him understand the ghost that haunted the back of his mind, but at a first glance there was nothing here. It was a very impersonal place; the only reason Akira knew for sure that Akechi lived here was the coat hanging by the door, the trench coat unmistakably his.
Going further in, he looked around, a little surprised at how small the space was. The main room was half kitchen and half living room, a small dining table between the two. There were only two chairs at the table, and Akira would be surprised if the second one ever got much use. There was another doorway to his left, and Akira could see the corner of a bed behind it from where he stood, along with another door that Morgana had just pushed open-
“Akira?” Morgana said in a shaky voice. “Come look at this.”
He stepped into the bedroom, turning to face the doorway, and…
Blood. That was the first thing Akira noticed, because it was impossible not to. The entire bathroom was white tile and porcelain, all once beautifully clean, but there was dried blood splattered inside the sink and along the toilet, as well as droplets painting reddish brown shapes on the floor.
The second thing Akira noticed was the smell. The smell of rot was strongest here, and it made his nose wrinkle in disgust. From Morgana’s pinched expression, he could tell it bothered him as well, and Akira found himself grateful for having an inferior sense of smell in times like this.
Finally, Akira noticed the flower petals.
Morgana shuddered, stepping closer to the trash can by the door. It was bursting with petals, most of them dried out and brown, but some with fuzzy white mold spreading across them. That was undoubtedly where the smell came from. There were petals in other places as well, a few scattered along the counter while another pile laid next to the toilet. Akira could even see entire flowers in some of the piles.
“Akira, what… what is this?” Morgana asked, still staring at the contents of the trash can. There was dried blood there too, and the spots of red adorning the dead flowers made the cause unmistakable, even as Akira tried to deny it.
“It looks like Hanahaki,” he murmured, barely audible. “I think Akechi had Hanahaki.”
But that made no sense. That didn’t align with any idea he had of Akechi, of what type of person he was. If he had Hanahaki, he must’ve been in love with someone. A love so strong it could’ve killed him. Akechi was the type to push everyone away, to scorn any type of human connection even when it was necessary. Even in the end, Akira could never get past Akechi’s barriers, not even after knowing the extent of his crimes and his desire for revenge. Akechi could never develop such a disease because he would’ve never let himself fall in love.
But here was the evidence to the contrary.
Akira felt sick.
***
He knew a girl who had Hanahaki disease, once.
Back at his hometown, when he was in middle school, he heard rumors about a high schooler who lived down the street from him. His friends at school told him she had thrown up flower petals in the school bathroom, and that someone found out and sent the photos to all of her classmates.
He couldn’t remember the girl’s name anymore, but he remembered seeing the petals, beautiful white roses stained red with blood. He remembers seeing the girl at the park once, but being too afraid to speak with her after seeing a trail of red on her lips.
Anyone could tell she was sick. By the end of it, her coughing fits were far too frequent, and the blood and rose petals weren’t easy to hide. Her face had become almost as white as the flowers growing in her lungs, and she was eventually hospitalized.
She survived the disease. It was a near thing, but according to the rumors, when she finally confessed her feelings to the boy she liked, she discovered that he’d been making fun of her for it behind her back. Akira had never been fully sure whether the act of confessing had cured her, or if the boy’s cruelty helped her to fall out of love, but either way he was happy that she made it through.
He was terrified for months after that. He’d always been a bit of a romantic as a kid, and he loved stories of romance in fairytales even when his peers poked fun at him for it, but after seeing the girl suffer, after seeing the dead look in her eyes as the town gossiped about her love while she was almost choking to death, he couldn’t help but wonder if falling in love was even worth it.
Akira thought back to the way she suffered, to her wheezing and coughing as she tried to breathe around the flowers inside of her, and he thought of Akechi.
Akechi seemed healthy to the very end. It almost felt like a mockery at first, seeing the boy who he was sure got shot to death in Shido’s Palace walk around without injury or illness. He fought viciously in Maruki’s Palace, he exuded strength wherever he went, and he seemed totally unshakeable.
Goro Akechi was a skilled liar. He made his career off his lies, seemingly taking no discomfort from lying in the face of all of Tokyo. Akira was never sure when he was being genuine and when he was just playing more games, except for that evening on February 2nd. But even then, there was no sign of illness, no weakness in his breath or in his conviction as he told Akira to let him die a second time. Goro Akechi was a skilled liar, but even he couldn’t have hidden something like this.
It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any goddamn sense.
***
The next day, Akira walked down a familiar alleyway and into Tae Takemi’s clinic.
Takemi was behind the counter as always, leaning back in her chair and reading a magazine. When she looked up, they made eye contact, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, guinea pig! I heard you were coming back to Tokyo, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”
Akira chuckled. “Yeah, sorry for not coming around earlier. I’ve had a lot of stuff to do.”
“That’s fine,” Takemi replied with a smile, though that smile fell after a moment. “You better not have gotten injured already. You got yourself into far too many scrapes last time you were here, and I hope you’ve learned your lesson by now.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been behaving this time around,” Akira reassured her, now even more determined not to mention that he broke into an apartment just yesterday. “I… do have a favor to ask, though.”
Takemi rolled her eyes, though her smile was back. “Alright, I suppose I’ve got time. Let’s go to the examination room.”
Akira took a seat at the stool and Takemi at her desk, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how little it felt things had changed. Tokyo was constantly changing, parts of it flickering in and out almost like they did in Mementos, (and because of that comparison, Akira couldn’t help but wonder if his knowledge of the cognitive Tokyo had affected his view of the real city.) But despite how much things had changed while he was gone, little pockets of life like Takemi’s clinic looked exactly the same.
“So,” Takemi began, “what is it you need? I still have all my old medicine in stock, but something tells me that’s not what you’re here for.”
Instead of replying, Akira took the plastic bag of flower petals out of his pocket, holding them out to Takemi.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not a plant biologist, you know,” she said, even as she took the bag and inspected it. “Is that dried blood?”
“Yeah. Do you think it’s Hanahaki?”
Takemi hummed. “Sure looks like it. Where did you find these?”
“The bathroom. There were a lot more petals around, but I didn’t want to grab all of them.”
She looked up at that. “I hope you had this bag with you when you got them. If these really came out of someone’s lungs, you don’t want to go touching them with your bare hands. You didn’t, did you?”
He suddenly remembered Morgana groaning in disgust as he grabbed the dried petals straight from the trash and shoved them in his pants pockets. He was most definitely not wearing gloves. It took him until he got back to Leblanc to wash his hands, since he didn’t want to use Akechi’s blood-crusted sink, and that was the same time he got the plastic bag for the petals. He could never quite shake the smell of rot that entire day.
“Nah, I had gloves with me.”
“Good,” Takemi replied, looking back down at the bag. “Whose bathroom was it?”
Akira winced. “Um, Leblanc’s?” he tried, though it was a weak lie even for him.
“Well, whoever’s it was, they’d better confess soon. From the size of these petals, it looks like they’re in the final stages. I assume you know what that means,” she finished, giving him a pointed look.
It took him a moment to process that. “Oh wait, no, these aren’t mine! It’s… a friend of mine.”
Takemi’s eyes softened. “Ah. You should talk to them, then. If they refuse to confess, you could refer them to me. I don’t have much experience with Hanahaki, given how incredibly rare it is, but there’s some drugs I could prescribe to help with the symptoms…” There must’ve been something in Akira’s expression, because she trailed off with a strange look on her face. “But it’s too late, isn’t it.”
He nodded, dread squeezing at his chest. “I was wondering if… if there’s some way to tell who they were in love with. From the flowers.”
“Not that I know of,” she said, shaking her head. “Some people say the type of flower carries some meaning, one that can be interpreted through flower language, but that’s hardly scientific. And from the condition of these petals,” she raised the bag, “it’d be nigh impossible to tell what kind they are.”
“I see.” Akira didn’t know what he expected. When Takemi spoke again, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze again.
“There’s reason to believe that Hanahaki is genetic. Or that people can have a genetic predisposition to it, at least. If someone else in your friend’s family also had it once, they might’ve been watching out for the disease, and they might know more about who the cause was. You could probably also ask their other friends about it, if you think they might have some ideas.”
Family was out of the question. The notion that Akechi would’ve ever confided in Shido about his love life was laughable, and it didn’t sound like he had anyone else he called family. As for friends…
“Yeah, I can… I can ask around. Thanks.”
There was a pause.
“Are you doing alright, Akira?” she began, her tone dripping with worry. “It sounds like this friend was very important to you. I know of some support groups I could refer you to, as well as some counselors who-”
“No,” Akira interjected, “No thanks. I’ll be alright. It’s just been a lot to think about.”
Takemi’s frown did not go away, but thankfully she decided to drop the subject. “Okay. You can always come talk to me if you need any help, though. I won’t even make you do any more clinical trials if you don’t want to.” At that she put on a playful smile.
Akira laughed weakly. “I’ll be sure to drop by either way. I’ve been meaning to catch up with everyone.”
He took the flower petals back from Takemi, shoving them back into his bag. Morgana would probably complain about the lingering smell for the next few days, but for the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
***
Why was it that in Maruki’s perfect reality, where children with cancer were cured in a day and where lovers came together without ever having to confess, Akechi had to suffer from such a horrific disease?
It was just another thing that didn’t fully add up. Maruki didn’t seem like the type to leave Akechi to suffer like that, but Akira was pretty sure Akechi would’ve cleaned up all evidence of his Hanahaki if he had the chance that winter. That meant he must’ve had it in February.
Maybe Maruki didn’t know about it? Or perhaps he somehow didn’t have the power to remove it entirely, and only lessened the symptoms of it? That would explain why Akechi seemed normal that whole time, but it would’ve been strange if Maruki could fix all the world’s problems except for Hanahaki.
There were other possibilities, but Akira didn’t have the heart to consider them. He didn’t want to believe that Maruki could’ve been so cruel, so manipulative.
Maybe Maruki’s perfect world was the reason that Akechi never confessed. If he had gotten together with someone, that would’ve been just another chain tethering him to that false world, another thing to stop him from moving on. He had been determined to break all ties, to ensure there was nothing obstructing the path to the real world, the path to his death.
Akira wondered what Akechi would look like in love. How he would’ve acted with this unknown love of his, and if Akira would’ve had the strength to return to the real world at the cost of that, of the one thing that could’ve finally made Akechi happy.
He wondered if Akechi would’ve let himself die, even if Akira took the deal.
He thought back to Akechi’s conviction on February 2nd, and he knew the answer.
***
“So, you wanted to speak with me about something?”
Sae Niijima always carried an air of authority with her. Even like this, nestled in the corner of a conveyor belt sushi restaurant and sitting across from a teenager, her perfect posture and hardened eyes left everyone in the vicinity without a doubt that she was in charge. It was something that reminded Akira of Akechi, in a way. Both of them were able to take charge of a room simply with body language and expression, the two being well-trained in the art of convincing higher-ups to take them seriously in a world that worked against them. Even considering who Akechi turned out to be, it wasn’t surprising that he and Sae worked together.
But perhaps that wasn’t very important right now. After all, just about everything reminded him of Akechi these days.
When he took too long to respond, Sae continued with a sigh, “I assume this is about Akechi?”
Akira sometimes wondered if mind-reading ran in the Niijima family. He nodded in response.
Sae frowned, leaning forwards in her seat. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Will we need to go somewhere more private for this discussion?”
The restaurant wasn’t entirely empty, but the few people who were there had chosen seats on the opposite side of the dining area. Akira and Sae were also a good distance away from the kitchen, so there were no workers in earshot.
“This should be fine,” he replied.
“Good. Now, what did you want to ask me about?”
Akira took a sharp breath. “Did you know Akechi had Hanahaki?”
The answer was clear in the way Sae’s eyes widened, her mouth slightly opening in shock. He already assumed that Sae wouldn’t know, given how secretive Akechi was, but the news still made him feel worse, if that was possible.
Sae took a moment to find her voice. “That’s… no, I didn’t know. Are you confident he did? He never gave any impression…” she trailed off.
“I’m pretty sure he did. I went to his apartment, and there were… there were petals all over the place. There was a lot of blood, too. I have no idea how he hid it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I assume I shouldn’t ask how you found his apartment. Or how you got in.”
Akira smiled sheepishly, and she let out another sigh.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How he managed to hide so many things from me, I’ll never know.” She paused again, before continuing with a frown, “Are you completely sure it was his apartment? That no one else had been there in the meantime?”
“I’m pretty sure. Shido’s people are still paying the rent for some reason, but everything in there belonged to Akechi.” Akira was completely sure of that, at least. The place was so impersonal that it theoretically could’ve belonged to anyone, but the few personal belongings that were strewn about were undoubtedly Akechi’s.
“Okay. Do you have any idea how long he had it for? Or who he was in love with?”
Akira ignored the weird feeling he got from that last sentence. “I’m not sure how long he had it, but when I showed Takemi the petals, she said he was likely in the final stages of it when he died. As for your second question… that’s what I wanted to ask you about.”
Sae hummed. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t give you a very satisfying answer on that. He hardly felt inclined to speak with me about his love life. The few times I brought up the subject, he was quick to dodge it he same way he did on those awful interviews of his.”
A wry smile tugged at Akira’s lips. “You don’t seem the type to ask about that sort of thing.”
“I’m really not. But I only ever saw him during work or immediately afterwards, if we went out for food or something. We used to come to this restaurant sometimes, actually,” she said, glancing towards the rest of the sushi place with an almost wistful expression. “He was always so stressed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. I worried about him sometimes, when I wasn’t too preoccupied with work myself. I know what it’s like to fully commit yourself to work as a teenager, and I know how lonely it gets. But whenever he talked about it, he refused to admit anything was wrong. Come to think of it, I should have been asking Makoto the same thing. She and Akechi were alike in that way.”
“I’m sure Akechi appreciated your company,” Akira said, hoping he sounded reassuring rather than uncertain. “And Makoto has us now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“I suppose not. And now, with this news… If anything, it’s a relief to know that he got close enough to anyone to fall in love. Sometimes he seemed almost determined to make himself as lonely as possible.”
Akira frowned at that. “Yeah. So… he never talked about anyone around you or anything? Anyone who it might’ve been?”
Sae brought her hand up to her chin, rubbing at it absentmindedly. “No, not that I remember. Though…” she paused for a second, giving Akira an unreadable look.
He cocked his head to the side, waiting for her to continue.
“You’re probably the person I’ve heard him talk about the most. At least, out of people he knew who were his age.”
Akira adjusted his glasses, not liking the look she was giving him. Some strange mixture of cold analyzation and pity. “Okay, but I was his rival. His enemy. You two were investigating the Phantom Thieves, and he-” Akira paused for a second, making sure no one else was listening before continuing in a hushed voice, “he knew I was one of them. It makes sense that my name would come up. Word association, you know?”
Sae raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps. But I’m confident that he spoke more of you than he did of Shido. Shido was his enemy, too. Far more so than you were. And before November, he never spoke of you in the context of the Phantom Thieves. To my knowledge, you were just a boy he met at a TV station who he spent a lot of time with. So, you can see where my suspicion lies.”
He did not like the way this conversation was going. He didn’t like the way the idea sat with him, the way it made something dark and unpleasant twist his stomach into knots.
“I get that, but it couldn’t be me. I would know if it was.” He spoke with conviction that he didn’t really feel. But it still must be true. He was only ever Akechi’s rival, and things could never have gone further than that. Even if Akira wanted more, nothing could’ve come of it because Akechi never wanted anything more than that.
Before Akira’s mind could chase its own tail any further, Sae responded. “I suppose if you’re certain. Is there a reason you need to know who it was?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Not really, I guess. I just feel like I never really got to know him properly. So this all feels like… I don’t know, it’s like a part of him that I never got to see before.”
Sae hummed in understanding. “I can’t blame you for that. But please, don’t get in over your head with all this.”
Akira tilted his head to the side, questioning.
“I think we’ve all been stuck in what-ifs after that whole situation. And I don’t think it’s good for any of us. If you just want to understand Akechi better, I suppose I can’t stop you from investigating this, but there’s no use in getting stuck in the past. I just want you to be sure you can move on.”
“I can,” he affirmed, perhaps a little too quickly, but Sae didn’t question it. “I know I can’t do anything about what happened. This is just out of curiosity.”
She nodded. “Okay. But if Makoto comes along and tells me you’ve been acting strange, we’ll be talking about this again.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah. Alright.”
***
Akira already felt guilty for everything that happened in Maruki’s Palace. After all, his wish was the whole reason that Akechi came back in the first place. He couldn’t help but wonder if Akechi would rather he never came back, that he never spent that borrowed time with Akira and the other Thieves.
Every moment of suffering Akechi experienced in that time was Akira’s fault. It was Akira’s fault for being too attached, for wishing so desperately that the boy had lived that Maruki acted on that wish. It always made the glove he now constantly kept in his bag feel strangely heavier. Like it was only proof of his overattachment. He wasn’t sure they’d have even been able to defeat Maruki without Akechi there, so in that sense it was a good thing, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had betrayed Akechi somehow.
That thought was a little absurd, he knew. Akechi had outright betrayed the Phantom Thieves in a far more significant way, so at worst this was simply evening the score. But that thought still wasn’t enough to let the guilt dissipate.
He hated the thought that Akechi’s Hanahaki had been because of him, too. During Maruki’s palace, Akechi was effectively caught between a rock and a hard place: leaving that reality and disappearing, or staying and risking death by Hanahaki. Akira already knew the former was his fault. He didn’t want the latter to be his fault too.
It would’ve been almost poetic, in a sick and twisted way. Akechi was doomed to die twice no matter what, either because of Akira’s love or his lack of it.
(But a part of him knew he truly did love Akechi at the time. That he still did now. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Akechi had loved him back, had told him so back in Maruki’s reality. He didn’t know if he’d have the strength to leave that behind.)
For now, Akira decided not to believe it. Because he didn’t know what to do with the thought that Akechi loved him, and that Akira completely failed him in every way.
***
When he walked down the stairs of the attic the next morning, all the Phantom Thieves were there at Leblanc, chatting amongst themselves at a booth. Even Morgana was already down, likely having left his spot on the bed before Akira even woke up. He gave a questioning look to Sojiro, who was preparing the coffee siphons for the day, and he merely shrugged.
Yusuke glanced over at the stairs from where he was sitting, immediately making eye contact with Akira. “Ah. He has finally arrived.”
The rest of the group turned to look at Akira, and oh, he knew something had to be wrong for everyone to be willing to get up and come here so early. Futaba’s expression was pinched, her nervousness making itself clear in the crease of her eyebrows and her slight frown. Her eyes were intense, and Akira had to look away. He could make a guess as to what was wrong.
Makoto spoke up. “Akira, good morning. Could we speak with you for a moment upstairs?” Her voice was clinical, unnatural.
Sojiro walked over to him, handing him a plate of curry. “Take this up with you. But don’t spill any, alright? If we get any rats in the attic, you’ll be the one to deal with them.”
Akira nodded his thanks, making his way back up the stairs as he heard the sounds of his friends following him.
He sat down on the bed, everyone else taking the couch and chairs. Morgana sat with Futaba on the couch, rather than with Akira like he normally would, and Akira ignored the sinking feeling in his chest when he noticed that.
Futaba spoke first. “Morgana told us everything. Why did you have to… I get why you went, but why didn’t you even bother to tell us first?”
Akira couldn’t help but wince at that, but he knew he probably deserved it. “I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t want me to go.”
“It was foolish of you to do something so impulsive without telling us,” Makoto said. “Yes, Akechi’s apartment turned out to be safe, but you couldn’t have known that. You could’ve gotten yourself in trouble.”
Ryuji chimed in, “Yeah, dude. I would’ve helped you out with whatever weird plan you had there, all you had to do was ask. What were you even lookin’ for in that guy’s apartment, anyway?”
Akira shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just… wanted some kind of an answer, I guess.”
Sumire stood up from her chair, walking to the bed and sitting next to Akira. She put a hand on his shoulder, her eyes wide with sadness and worry. “I’m sorry, Akira-senpai. We all miss him too.”
“Indeed,” Yusuke agreed. “Though he was at times our enemy, we all understand the weight of his sacrifice, and I wish he was here to head to the future with us. You can confide with us about your grief, and we will always understand.”
Akira nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He understood his friends’ concern, but it still felt almost hollow. They weren’t flat-out lying to him, he knew that much, but there was a degree to which they just couldn’t understand. It wasn’t their fault Akechi died, not the first time and not the second. It was only Akira’s. An irrational anger began to rise in his throat.
“We know you’re trying to carry this burden yourself,” Haru began, “and we’re not going to let you do that to yourself. We all had things to move on from in Maruki’s reality, and you helped us through that. Now please, let us help you.”
She was right. She was completely right, Akira knew that, but still his chest bubbled and twisted, and he wished they would all just leave him alone.
“We just don’t want you to hurt yourself like this anymore,” she continued. “Going to his apartment, prying into his condition… You’re getting yourself stuck in the past. But it’s not your job to mourn him forever.”
And for some reason, that’s what let the ugly thing in Akira’s chest finally snap.
“Okay, but who fucking will, then?” he snarled, shrugging away from Sumire’s hand. “Who the fuck will, if I don’t? No one ever knew who he really was, no one even came close except for us. And you’re all just so happy to forget he ever existed.”
“Akira,” Makoto warned, but once the floodgates opened, he couldn’t stop.
“None of you understand. He was just like us. Doomed by his father, and doomed to play the villain in Yaldabaoth’s game. We all made mistakes, and his were worse than most, but he never got a second chance. I can’t just move on when he was never even given the chance to be his own fucking person!” He realized he was shouting, but his body felt out of his control. It took all of his energy to force his mouth shut.
All of his friends were in varying states of concern and alarm, but Haru’s face only hardened at his words. Her fists trembled at her sides, but in her eyes there was an angry resolve.
“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand,” she said, glaring daggers at Akira. Her voice was cold and intense, a complete 180 from her words just earlier. “I had to give up my father after Maruki’s reality, in case you’ve forgotten. I had to watch him die because of his mistakes, and I had to deal with the knowledge that I was never enough to save him, or even change his mind. You say I’m too willing to forget Akechi, but you’re ignoring how he made Futaba and I suffer, how he made all of us suffer! You’re ignoring that just because he was in love with you!”
Ann put a hand on Haru’s shoulder, silencing her, but the damage had been done. The room was entirely silent, and somewhere in the back of Akira’s mind he registered just how deeply he fucked up. But thanks to his messed-up priorities and the unusual circumstances, he couldn’t help but focus on the final (and arguably least important) part of that outburst.
“He wasn’t… it wasn’t me,” he said weakly, his anger fizzling out.
There was another pause. Haru was still bubbling over with rage. The others just looked sad.
Ann eventually spoke. “Akira. It couldn’t have been anyone else. He only ever had eyes for you.”
No one denied it. Akira felt overwhelmed, felt the burning gazes of his friends on him as he pushed his untouched plate of curry to the side and stood. On top of everything, the verbal confirmation of his worst fears was far too much right now, and before he knew it he was walking to the stairs and grabbing his bag, ignoring his friends as they called out to him and ignoring Sojiro’s questioning look as he left Leblanc and didn’t look back.
***
It wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually showed up in front of Akechi’s apartment building again, his hands still shaking and his mind still restless. He had more lockpicks in his bag, one of the many Metaverse habits he’d kept up for no good reason, and with resolve he entered the apartment building again, taking that same elevator ride up to Akechi’s floor without Morgana’s comforting presence in his bag to keep him grounded.
Once again, there was no one in the hallway with him to question what he was doing as he picked the lock, and again, Akechi’s apartment was barren and unwelcoming. He shut the door behind him, staring into the main room, and found that he didn’t know what to do now that he was here.
It didn’t take him long to decide on a task, so for the next hour and a half he found himself completely trashing Akechi’s apartment.
He dug through drawers and cabinets, the pockets of Akechi’s jackets, the space underneath his furniture. He found Akechi’s old attaché case and dumped it out on the floor, the only notable contents being a portable makeup set and some unfinished homework papers that were probably due in December. He found even more blood around the apartment, some staining tissues that filled the trash bin under the kitchen sink and some laying in splotches along the sleeves of some of his shirts. He checked and rechecked every spot, wondering if there were hidden compartments or secret codes or something that he might’ve missed the first time around.
Because Akechi wouldn’t just leave him behind like this. Right? Akechi must’ve understood that Akira would come here one day, that he would tear apart a dead man’s apartment in search of answers he so deeply craved, and he would leave something behind for Akira. He would leave something to explain everything, to explain the Hanahaki, to say Yes, Akira, I loved you the whole time and here’s why I never told you, or perhaps No, Akira, my life doesn’t revolve around you, and this isn’t all your fault.
Eventually, he had to stop. There was nothing. No letter that explained all the enigmas that were Akechi, no clues or hints leading to an answer, no indication of Akechi’s suffering present anywhere in his apartment except for the bathroom splattered with his blood.
Akira found himself lying on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the scent of rot that still filled his lungs, that tainted every corner of this damned apartment. He felt the smooth material under his back and wondered if Akechi ever laid here like this, after a long day at school or work. He wondered what Akechi would think about in those moments, what he would do. Maybe, in those moments, he thought about Akira, just as Akira now thought about him.
Time passed. He doesn’t know how long he spent on that couch, if he ever fell asleep, if he even cared. When he got bored of it he paced around the apartment. Scanned Akechi’s selection of books. Put on Akechi’s jacket in a moment of weakness, pretending that it made him feel any warmer.
When he inevitably returned to the bloody mess that was the bathroom, staring at the piles of rotted petals, he finally felt the weight of a love strong enough to choke, to bleed, to kill. One that would’ve done just that, if Akechi hadn’t decided to do the job his own way.
Akira found he felt the same. He looked at that bloody pile of decaying plant matter and thought it could very well have been him, choking on his love for a boy not alive to receive it. For a dark moment he wished it was, that their love could be reciprocated in death if not in life. But because the world had a sick sense of humor, it once again let Akira live where it left Akechi to die.
***
When he finally returned to Leblanc, it was completely dark outside and had been for a while. He wasn’t expecting anyone to still be there, but when he opened the door and heard the soft jingle of the bell above him, Sojiro met his eye.
“Ah. You’re finally back. I was starting to wonder if you’d gone to stay at a friend’s place or something.”
That was more accurate than Sojiro probably thought. “Sorry about that.”
Sojiro grunted. “It’s fine. I’ll warm up some curry for you.”
Akira hovered by the door for a moment before sitting down at a stool next to the coffee siphons, trying not to even look at what he still considered to be Akechi’s seat. “You don’t have to do that, Boss,” he said, already knowing Sojiro would insist anyway. “Futaba’s probably worried.”
“She’s worried about you, kid. Your friends told me what happened.”
Akira winced. “All of it?”
“Enough of it.”
He didn’t really know what to say to that. He settled for another, “I’m sorry.”
Sojiro exhaled, his eyes weary. “I know you liked the kid, I get it. I certainly wasn’t fully rational after Wakaba died. Just be sure to talk to your friends tomorrow, okay? You scared the hell out of them when you stormed out like that.”
Akira nodded. He was hardly looking forward to that conversation, and his strange sort of vigil in Akechi’s apartment hadn’t exactly done wonders for his mental health, but he knew he had to apologize to Haru and the others. If only the world could just stop for a second, if he could get a few weeks or months without having to go through all his daily motions so he could come to terms with the dead boy in his heart, with those intense, analytical eyes that haunted his dreams and reminded him of all the things the world had to lose.
His reverie was broken as Sojiro placed a plate of curry and rice in front of him. He nodded his thanks, beginning to eat robotically. In all that time at Akechi’s apartment, Akira hadn’t bothered to eat. It felt a bit too personal, the idea of cooking at his apartment without him ever knowing, even when the only things in his cupboard were old containers of instant noodles. He hadn’t noticed how empty his stomach was, his mind too busy filling with static to allow any input.
It was about halfway through his plate of curry that Sojiro abruptly spoke. “You know how I always leave coffee out for Wakaba once a year?”
It took a moment for Akira to realize what he meant. “It’s not the anniversary of Akechi’s death yet.”
“No, it isn’t. But you look like you need a moment with him.” Sojiro gave him a look, gesturing at the siphons in front of him. “If you’d like, we could brew some for him.”
“I… yeah, I think I’d like that. Hold on,” Akira replied, taking a few more bites of curry before standing and moving behind the counter. He put on his apron in a practiced motion, turning to find that Sojiro had already selected Akechi’s favorite coffee beans. It was reassuring in a way, seeing the ways that Akechi’s life had burned into the memories of others. It made everything a little more real, a little more permanent.
Akira brewed the coffee as he always had, the grinding of the beans and the drip of the siphon blending back into all of his memories of early mornings before school, of working at Leblanc. Sojiro observed him as he worked, giving the occasional pointer but mostly leaving Akira to his devices. He had been well-trained, after all.
When he finally poured out the coffee and set it in front of Akechi’s seat, he didn’t really know what to feel. The steam rising from the cup was the same, the gentle clink as he set it down was the same, but in some ways it only brought attention to all that was missing from the scene. He missed Akechi’s challenging expression, his contented sigh as he took his first sip, the way his shoulders would relax while his eyes and tone remained sharp as ever.
But even so, it felt good to do something for Akechi again. To create something he knew Akechi would enjoy, something that was all for him.
“You’ve gotten real good at this, kid,” Sojiro said, breaking the silence. “We all have our fair share of regrets. But, uh… you should know I’ll never regret taking you in last year. You’re a good kid, Akira. Remember that.” He cleared his throat awkwardly in the resulting pause. Sojiro was never one for heartfelt conversations, but…
“Thanks, Boss,” Akira replied, a small smile on his lips for the first time today.
Sojiro grunted again. “Alright. I guess I’ll leave you to it. It’s getting late, after all. Don’t stay up too long.”
Akira nodded, watching as Sojiro put on his hat and coat and left the café.
For the first time in months, Akira found himself alone with Akechi again. For just a moment, the shadows where the orange lights failed to reach were no longer oppressive, and the silence was comfortable.
For just a moment, he thought he could see his rival staring back at him from behind that rising steam, and in that moment he felt okay again.