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First, he opens his eyes.
He tries to speak, tries to move, but everything feels unbearably heavy. He feels a weight on his limbs, a weight on his mouth, a weight on everything but his eyelids. So he blinks, because it’s all he can do.
He’s facing a ceiling. His ceiling, he recognizes. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it’s his.
So he’s at home, then. In his apartment, all alone. He isn’t sure what to think of that. If he’s been asleep–no– comatose for as long as he thinks he has, then that would mean that for the past couple of days, or maybe even weeks, he hasn’t eaten or drank or showered or anything of the like. Assuming, of course, that no one had cared to check up on him. The most likely scenario.
He blinks at the ceiling.
Then, he remembers.
He remembers dying, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, remembers his own ugly face staring back at him, twisted into a sinister smile. He remembers Joker.
“I’ll hold on to your glove.”
What a joke.
Then he remembers Maruki. He remembers the too-perfect reality, the reality where all were free of sin, where the mourned came to life and where each smile was perfectly genuine yet sickeningly fake at the same time.
He gets the sudden feeling that he needs to get up. To do something.
Slowly, he begins to move his head. It aches, but that’s okay. He looks around. He really is in his apartment. It’s just as soulless as he remembers it being. How fun. His limbs still feel limp, but he manages to open his mouth and let out a noise similar to that of a dying horse, so there’s that.
He’ll start out slow.
He looks at his feet. Wiggle your big toe, he thinks. He’s watched far too many movies. He feels stupid, but at least he’s alone.
This is going to take up his entire morning, isn’t it?
–
It ends up taking up his entire day.
Occupied as he was with moving his arm and leg and neck and whatnot, Goro forgot to feel . He completely forgot that when you wake up from a week-or-so long coma, you’re supposed to feel relieved, happy, or maybe even slightly worried. One would typically call a family member, a close friend, and tell them something along the lines of, “I’m back,” or better yet, “Did you miss me?”.
Too bad Goro doesn’t really have friends.
So instead of feeling any of the emotions one would expect him to feel, he instead feels angry. Disappointed, even.
Now, Goro Akechi didn’t exactly want to die – but he expected to. When you spend your entire life expecting for something to happen and it ends up only…partially happening, you naturally feel a little bit disappointed. Not only that, but this seems to be the second time he’s revived.
What a joke.
He doesn’t really know what he’s meant to do, now that he finally can do it. He stands perfectly still in the middle of his apartment and tries to think of something.
It’s not like he can go out. In fact, he’s still having trouble walking. Turns out, waking up from a coma doesn’t really go just like it does in the movies, with the sharp gasp for air and the sudden burst of energy.
He looks at himself in the mirror. He’s wearing his pajamas. He doesn’t remember changing. He lost a bit of weight, but it’s nothing too noticeable. His hair, however, is the messiest it’s been in a while. He groans.
He spots his phone sitting idly on the dining table. It surprisingly isn’t dead. The date reads March 18th. Great. So he’s been asleep for…
About 2 months.
Although, he supposes that he was technically awake during the whole Maruki fiasco, albeit not…traditionally. He supposes that he shouldn’t think about it too much. He has bigger fish to fry.
Does he? Not really.
56 missed calls. How delightful. The oldest ones are all from Shido, or from members of Shido’s staff. There are messages, too. Some talk of the Phantom Thieves, of Shido’s change of heart, calling Goro a failure for ever letting any of this happen. Some are warnings – “If you don’t do something soon, you’re dead,” or, “You’ve really done it now, Akechi.” Others are formal and curt. Straight to the point.
Seven missed calls are from Sae Nijima. He feels somewhat flattered.
The other 23, however.
The other 23 missed calls are from Akira.
There are 23 voicemails to accompany them.
What a sick joke.
–
“You have no idea how much I miss you.”
“I’m perfectly aware actually.”
“I really hope you get this message.”
“Trust me, I did.”
Silence.
“At a loss for words, are you?”
“I’m…stupid.”
“You really are.”
A click followed by a few rhythmic beeps.
Goro stares at his phone, face blank. It’s not like he wants to listen to every single individual voicemail. He just has nothing better to do with his time. It occurred to him, in between checking his fridge for any left-overs (which he did not have) and attempting to untangle his hair (which he did not succeed in doing) that he was very much unemployed.
Now, he always knew that one day this would happen. No job lasts forever, and no job that involves murdering people for your evil politician father’s benefit should last longer than a few years.
And sure, one could argue that he’s still somewhat a detective, and that that’s a job, but he highly doubts that 2 months of unjustified absence without so much as a text message is exactly exemplary.
Hence, the savings account. He’ll find a job eventually, but for now…
For now, Goro Akechi is but the hollow shell of his former detective prince self. He is now but a regular highschooler going to Kosei in hopes that he will get into a good university when he graduates. To make a living. To survive. He is now but an 18 year old boy, alone in an apartment far too big for someone fresh out of childhood.
He isn’t Crow. He isn’t the black mask. Not anymore.
So can you really blame him for wanting to spend his evening listening to the desperate voicemails of a boy he once knew?
He taps his phone once, twice.
The fourth voicemail plays.
“I don’t know why I even try anymore. I just felt like it, I guess.”
“It’s pointless, Akira,” he says.
“If you ever get this, any of these, please…”
Akira clears his throat. There’s shuffling.
“Just–you know. You’re smart enough to know what to do.”
Goro briefly entertains the idea of calling him.
Just briefly. He doesn’t seriously consider it. He doesn’t even have anything to say to him, really.
(Except that he does–he has so much to say to him that he knows that the moment he picks up that phone it’ll all come rushing out before he knows it like water behind a dam. Word vomit. So he won’t call him, because it’s the more mature thing to do. The good thing to do.)
Goro is about to move on to voice message number five when–
Akira is calling him. His phone begins to vibrate. Akira is calling him. He stares at the contact name–Kurusu Akira–and frowns. Akira is calling him. He stares at the red button at the bottom right corner of the screen–decline call. It tempts him because Akira is calling him. Akira is calling him. Does he know?
He lets it ring and ignores the guilt threatening to swallow him whole. Because that’s all he’s been doing for the past few months, isn’t it? Ignoring the pain, ignoring the guilt, twisting them into anger again and again until he can no longer feel anything other than wrath, other than pure resentment–
“Voicemail again. Not like I expected anything different.”
A dry chuckle. His or Akira’s, he isn’t sure.
“I’m going to say my goodbyes to everyone tomorrow, and then I’m leaving on the 20th.”
Goro remains perfectly still. Maybe he flinches a little.
“I’ll pass by Jazz Jin. Maybe you’ll be there. I still have your glove, you know? Last chance to get it back before it’s gone forever.”
You’re so stupid, he wants to say . To have kept that glove, you’re so stupid. Stupid, sentimental bastard.
“I miss you. I…”
Goro wants to scream.
“Akechi, I know you’re listening to this.”
What the fuck? No you don’t.
“Who am I kidding? You aren’t. You’re probably–you know. But I really hope that you aren’t. I think of you every day, you know? Sometimes I regret not taking up Maruki’s offer, but I could never betray you like that. I probably would’ve ended up happier, though. With you.”
His voice begins to break. Goro hears him sniffle.
“Look at me, getting all emotional. You probably think I’m stupid right now. Honestly, I hope you do. I hope you still can.”
Goro feels like there’s a golf ball in his throat.
“See you tomorrow. And if not, I’ll be at the train station on the 20th. Hopefully I’ll see you then.”
A pause.
“I still think that you’re out there somewhere, Akechi. I don’t think you died that day in the engine room, and I don’t think you died after we stole Maruki’s treasure. So please, if you get this, please say goodbye.
We never did get to say goodbye.”
A click. The beeps feel longer this time. Deafening.
Goro rubs his eyes. Not because he’d been crying, just because he can. He doesn’t cry. He hasn’t cried since he was 15.
Maybe he’ll pass by Jazz Jin tomorrow. If he has the time.
–
‘Tomorrow’ comes. Goro finds himself laying on the couch, TV playing an endless loop of today’s news. He isn’t really listening, but it’s nice to stay informed. It had always proved useful in his field of work.
He doesn’t really have the energy to go anywhere today.
He decides that he’ll call Nijima-san. Can’t hurt, right? At least someone should know about his second rise from the dead.
And no, he can’t call Akira. He’ll deal with that some other time.
So he dials her number on his phone.
(He absently wonders if Futaba still has it bugged. If so, does she know? If she did, she’d surely have told Akira by now, so it’s quite unlikely. Nonetheless, he makes note to buy himself a new one sometime soon.)
The phone only rings twice before Nijima-san picks up.
“Hello? Akechi?”
“Hello Nijima-san,” he says politely. “How have you been?”
“You–you’re not–you’re alive?”
“Unfortunately so.”
“Don’t joke like that,” she sighs. He hears a few voices in the background. She’s likely at work. “Have you been alive this whole time?”
He hums. “It’s a rather recent development, actually.”
A long pause. Goro hears shuffling.
“Am I the first whom you’ve told about this?”
“Well, I don’t see who–”
“Akira. That kid’s been worried sick.”
I know, he does not say.
“I’ll likely see him around sometime soon. It’s no big deal.”
Nijima-san sighs, exasperated. Goro is almost grateful that they aren’t having this conversation face to face. She likely would have strangled him by now.
“He’s leaving tomorrow. Today is his last day.”
Goro huffs, feigning indifference. “Really? I wasn’t aware. I guess I’ll try and get in touch with him.”
Another pause.
Then,
“Are you alright? I can stop by if you need me to.”
Her pity is sickening. It’s sickening because she knows . She’d known, when he’d walked into the interrogation room, completely numb and ready to kill. She knows what a monster he is. And yet she still offers her help, purely because he’s a child.
“I appreciate the concern, Nijima-san, but I can assure you, I’m perfectly fine. It was nice talking with you. Send my regards to your sister.”
He hangs up.
Oh god, her sister . Great. Now the whole Nijima family knows. And Makoto knowing means Akira knowing.
How can he be so stupid?
He contemplates sending her a message telling her not to tell Makoto. He’ll make something up about a surprise, maybe. But that won’t do. Both Sae and Makoto know him well enough to know that he isn’t one for surprises—and neither of them know him that well at all.
He’s halfway through drafting a message when he receives one himself. He just keeps getting interrupted, doesn’t he?
Makoto Nijima: You’re alive?
You: Unfortunately so.
Makoto Nijima: Don’t joke about things like that, Akechi.
Goro rolls his eyes. Like sister, like…sister.
Makoto Nijima: Have you told Akira?
You: You have the privilege of being the first of the Phantom Thieves to know.
Makoto Nijima: You should tell him, Akechi. I’m being serious. He deserves to know.
Makoto Nijima: In fact, absolutely nothing is stopping me from telling him myself.
Makoto Nijima: Along with the rest of the former Phantom Thieves.
Makoto Nijima: I’m drafting a message to the group chat.
Makoto Nijima: Do you know how much he’s grieved over the past few months?
Makoto Nijima: He deserves to know.
Makoto Nijima: Any objections?
Makoto Nijima: I’m being serious.
You: I get the feeling that you want me to object.
You: Which is exactly what I’ll do.
You: You see, I was planning a bit of a surprise
Makoto Nijima: That sounds unlikely.
Just say ‘bullshit’ , you stuck-up.
You: I believe that it’s within my right to be the one to tell him.
She doesn’t answer, so he assumes that he’s safe. He breathes out a sigh of relief. He silently thanks Makoto Nijima for being one of the only members of the Phantom Thieves to possess an ounce of common human decency. He’s sure that had Ryuji been the first to find out, things would have gone a lot differently.
He’d never exactly liked Makoto, per se, but he’d always respected her. He respects her a bit more after this.
Although he’d originally planned to check out Jazz Jin later today, he finds that he still feels–physically, at least–absolutely terrible. Everytime he tries to stand up his limbs end up dragging him back down as if shackled to one of those medieval dungeon balls. It’s draining.
For dinner, he’ll allow himself the luxury of ordering takeout. Just like he did for breakfast, lunch, and yesterday’s dinner. It’s no big deal—it’s not like he’d cook under any normal circumstances. He’d usually stop by the bakery across the street.
His phone buzzes.
Makoto Nijima: I understand that you wouldn’t want me telling Akira, given how close the two of you were, but may I at the very least tell the rest of the Thieves?
Ah. Exactly as he’d predicted. After all; the Phantom Thieves are a tightly knit bunch.
He thinks to himself. There aren’t exactly any pros to having them know, but there aren’t any cons either. Well–one. Ryuji. Ryuji had definitely been one of the less pleasant members to work with, although Haru was a close second, purely out of discomfort. What a shame. She seemed like a nice enough girl.
But back to Ryuji. Now, Goro isn’t exactly opposed to the idea of Ryuji knowing purely out of dislike for Ryuji as a person. Rather, he is almost positive that if Ryuji were to know, then Akira would know almost instantly. The two are extremely close, after all.
In other words, he has very little faith in Ryuji's ability to keep a secret.
You: Pardon me for asking, but may you tell me exactly who you’re referring to?
Makoto Nijima: Is there someone in particular (other than Akira, of course) who you think shouldn’t know?
You: Well…yes.
Makoto Nijima: …Ryuji, I assume?
You: Well…yes.
Makoto Nijima: I understand. In that case, I’ll only tell Haru.
Makoto Nijima: I’ll of course tell her to keep it a secret from Akira.
You (draft): I doubt that she’ll be overjoyed by the news.
You (draft): That’s fine.
You: That’s fine.
Makoto Nijima: I wish you the best.
You: Likewise.
Well. He supposes that that conversation went relatively well.
It hits him, suddenly, how only two people know that he’s alive. How for the past few months he’d been good as dead. Forgotten by all but one boy.
It’s strange. It’s strange to know that if he were to die—and he means really die—the world would not change in the slightest. The sun would set, the birds would sing, and everything would go on as if Goro Akechi had never existed in the first place. It makes him feel insignificant. Useless. It makes him feel like everyone else.
And Goro absolutely refuses to be like everyone else.
The desperate need to be special had always been one of his ugliest flaws. To keep his head above the water, not to drown in the endless sea of ‘average’. And he succeeded in doing so, for a while. Or at least feeling like it.
This time around, he’ll turn a flaw into something good. He’ll try. The next time he dies, he will be mourned by more than just Kurusu Akira.
But before then, he needs to figure out how to get himself to move.
–
It’s Akira’s last day in Tokyo.
Goro feels well enough to take a walk.
So he gets dressed. He puts on his school uniform because he feels far too lazy to put together a proper outfit, grabs his briefcase for the sake of looking busy, and goes for a walk around the city.
He decides that he’ll take the train to Yongen sometime soon. He’s in the mood for a nice cup of coffee.
Not now, though. First, he’ll let himself get lost in the big city. He’ll watch the billboards, their lights blinding even in plain daylight, and fade into the background of busy salarymen and concerned mothers and happy teenagers. He hopes that he won’t get recognized, although he doubts that anyone remembers yesterday’s detective prince. He was a fad, then. Easily forgotten, easily replaced.
It’s not like he minds.
After all, the Phantom Thieves were forgotten as well. He can find joy in that, at least.
The Phantom Thieves. Their leader. He hadn’t really thought about them.
Judging from the 23 missed calls, Akira had never stopped thinking about him . Somehow, that makes him feel a little giddy. To think that he affected him that much. Some of the voicemails had been particularly flattering too—he’d never known Akira to be a poet, but he supposes that everyone must have a hidden talent.
Speaking of the voicemails, he had yet to listen to every single one. He was on the fifth before Akira interrupted him.
He realizes that he’d been standing still in the middle of the busy crowd for far too long. He decides to go and find a bench.
Once he’s finally settled, he opens his briefcase and fumbles for his earphones. It’s not like he’ll allow just anyone to listen to those voicemails, will he? They’re his, and his alone.
There’s a new one. It’s from yesterday.
He decides to listen to it.
“You weren’t at Jazz Jin, but the owner told me to tell you to pass by when you can. He says that he hasn’t seen you in a while.”
Right, the owner. Goro finds comfort in knowing that at least he noticed that he was gone.
“Today is my last day in Tokyo. You still haven’t fulfilled your promise, you know. I’m still waiting for you.”
“I’ll be seeing you. It’ll be fine.” he says, and it looks enough like a real conversation for the old lady beside him to completely ignore him.
“Please come see me at the Leblanc, or even at the train station. I don’t want to leave this place without saying goodbye to you.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
“You probably already know this, but there’s still one thing that I need to tell you. It’s important. I regret not having told you sooner. I really should’ve done it back in February, but I just…couldn’t really bring myself to, given the situation. I mean, you seemed pretty angry at me for hesitating. Then I wanted to do it after the whole Maruki thing, but, well…”
Goro doesn’t really have a response to that. He frowns.
“I always have to hide when I send these voicemails, because Morgana would probably judge me if I sent them in front of him. It makes me feel silly, but, uh…I’ll just–I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope. And if not, then expect to be flooded with these voicemails for the rest of your life. ”
And if I really had died that day? What then?
Oh, Akira.
He mouths the name. A-kee-ra. Open for the A. A for adore. A for admire. K like an abrupt kiss to soft lips. ‘Ki’ for kind. Open for the final ‘ra’. Akira. What a beautiful name it is. He wants to speak that name every day, wants to repeat it over and over again until it loses all meaning. Akira.
The old lady stares at him, perplexed.
He puts his phone in his pocket and stuffs his earphones back into his briefcase. He decides to go get a cup of coffee.
The train station is packed as always. Goro had always been indifferent towards commuting—save for days when nosy fans would make him miss his train—but today he finds all the noise comforting. Look at him, getting all sentimental over the roar of a train. He almost sounds like Akira.
He makes his way to the platform. The sign reads “Yongen Jaya.” Today he finds the characters dizzying.
He wonders if he’d be welcomed, were he to visit Leblanc. He isn’t sure how much Sakura-san knows about the incident back in November, but assuming he’d been aware of the inner workings of the Phantom Thieves, Goro doubts that he’d be eager to see him. No matter. He isn’t there for him anyway.
He stands on the platform, waiting. He thinks of Akira.
Passengers begin to board a train, but it isn’t his. He watches as people take their seats.
He feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps.
“Akechi! Nice seeing you here!”
It’s some guy who he met on a News Station once. A politician. Governor, perhaps? He can’t seem to recall.
He feels slightly irritated at him for having interrupted his daydreaming, but no matter. He plasters on his detective prince smile.
“Oh,” he doesn’t remember the guy's name, “It’s been quite a while.”
“Hasn’t it? Where have you been? You know, you really remind me of my daughter. I’ll have to introduce the two of you sometime soon.”
I couldn’t give less of a fuck about your daughter. “Really? She must be delightful.”
Governor-Man laughs. “She is. Well, there’s my train. It was nice seeing you!”
“Likewise.”
He gives a weak wave and watches him board his train. He goes back to staring at the passengers, when–
Akira.
Akira is staring at him from behind the train window. Akira, with his raven hair and fake glasses and pouty lips and—
Akira.
It’s Akira. Akira in the flesh. His eyes are wide, shining. He looks bewildered. Goro wants to smash the train window open and heave him out like he’s rescuing him. He wants him . He feels himself choke. He hadn’t seen him board because of that damn Governor, but–
“Akira,” he says, and he sees him mouth ‘Akechi’ back.
Slowly, the train begins to move, taking Akira with it. Goro will not chase after it, because his life isn’t a movie.
(He may follow it, but just for a bit. Just for the sake of being able to see Akira’s face one last time.)
He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket.