Chapter Text
Akira wasn't fond of being in prison. It only reminded him of that fated day, the one which warped his quiet village life into something much larger than he could have ever imagined.
His new ‘bedroom’ made Leblanc's attic appear desirable. Cracks lined the off-white walls, and a poor excuse for a mattress was neglectfully shoved into a dimly lit corner. It smelled repugnant and sickly metallic. As for entertainment, there was no box TV or retro game console or tin clasps to make lockpicks. Occasionally, Akira listened in on the other raucous prisoners having disputes with the officers - the closest he would get to his old reliable DVD player.
Kurusu was innocent. Wrongly convicted for the God-knows-what time in his life, he wasn't counting. He knew that he wasn't worth the cruel treatment given behind bars, but confinement only instilled a haunting sense of guilt in his mind. And, the unfortunate lack of things to busy himself with would mean that Akira often wondered whether this was where he was supposed to belong.
To be closed off from the world like the true scum of society.
Despite this, he would attempt to shut out these thoughts as soon as they arrived. Akira didn't like to wallow in despair, especially not of his own circumstances. He knew that he was playing an unjust game. He knew that all the cards were stacked against him.
But, that was all over, wasn't it? His unlucky fate and counteracting ventures in the Metaverse had come to a close years ago. So, was he destined to remain a prisoner for life? Cursed by the Gods, scorned by the righteous and eternally atoning for his mere existence?
Or maybe, he was simply a troublemaker. A puppet of some higher power out there that wouldn't stop amusingly tugging at his strings.
Kurusu was thrown into the detention centre at around midday and informed by the officers that his trial commence some time in the following week. He grimaced at the thought of being thrust back into that courtroom - that dull and opressive space he was forced to endure all those years ago. But he would stay strong. He had to.
If not for himself, then for his friends. They would likely be beyond worried by now.
The clack of footsteps snapped Kurusu out of his train of thought, bringing his attention to a policeman who came by the front of his holding cell. They twisted a hefty key into the lock, quick and practiced. The shifting of metal-against-metal brought blithe ideas of freedom to Akira’s mind, but unfortunately, he wasn’t off the hook yet.
“You’ve got a visitor, inmate. Come on.”
Inmate. Even that word brought back memories of Personas and Igor and those ‘twins’ clad in royal blue.
He shook the memory, curtly nodded and made to his feet. He began to idly wonder which of his friends would be likely to visit him first. Surely not the group of them, with Morgana? Cats weren't allowed here, were they?
Perhaps he was being presumptuous. Maybe his visitor was another rotten individual that was there purely to criticize him, just like the rest of them had done. Just as they always would, even after his criminal record had been cleansed and he shot up to adulthood.
Yet, there was one person he wanted to meet far more than the others. A face he yearned to lay eyes on, even if only to drown out the gloom and squalor of the detention centre.
The police officer kept a firm figure as they walked to the visiting room - a long and dreary walk that only filled Kurusu’s brain with more wishful fanatics and sad hypotheticals.
Upon entering the visiting room, though, his eyes widened and glossed over with elation. A smile immediately tugged at his lips, emotions now overcome with mirth.
Justice had come to his rescue.
“Oh! Goro!”
The sudden exclamation of relief was loud and undignified. The ends of Goro's mouth lifted into a disgusted grimace. The policeman guarding the door probably raised eyebrow or two. Akira didn't care. The warmth melted through his cold, hollowed body like glares of sunlight through morning frost.
He locked gazes with a Goro Akechi sitting cooly behind the glass, eyeing Akira with the same skepticism and contempt that he was so incredibly used to.
He didn't see Akechi often these days. Akira was far too busy with his overflowing number of part-time jobs, while Goro was often swaddled with his diligent university endeavours. That was why, when he observed how Goro's hair was slightly longer than he remembered it, how his shoulders seemed less tense and slackened, how there was a starry sense of life in his expression (despite the signature scowl), Akira could not tear his eyes away.
His affection for Goro had never truly faded. Even after he was shot square in the forehead or after the man was thought dead by all who knew him, that same feeling in his chest remained. A certain buoyancy to the heart that he had never felt with anyone else.
Akechi had returned to Akira a broken man, but the two of them, along with his spirited friends and valuble acquaintances, picked up his shards and pieced them together until he was whole again. He now looked healthy and well, but still carried that same edge that made Goro, Goro. The same edge that brought out a zeal in Akira that no one else had the ability to awaken, a lust that could only be attributed to his true equal.
He wanted nothing more than to simply watch the man be. Yet, Akechi would sooner shoot Kurusu a second time if he stared into that pretty face for any longer than a couple seconds.
But that didn't matter. It was fantastic. He was fantastic. His desire for the man behind the glass burned stronger than ever.
“Akira - what are you doing here?”
His tone was akin to a sharpened knife, but instead of wounding Akira, it carved an elaborate path that allowed stupid dopamine to flood his lovestruck brain.
Kurusu practically stumbled closer to the glass and bolted to the flimsy chair, his legs feeling as though lightning had struck them to activity. He felt like a heart that had began beating again because someone decided to bring the defibrillator. Like a bird that had grown wings, uncaring about the chains that bound his feathers because in that moment, he was half certain he could have ripped his handcuffs straight off.
Maybe it was how pretty Goro looked behind that glass, in an argyle jumper, black slacks, and narrowed eyes that paired perfectly with the calculating brain inside his skull. Akira simply yearned to smash that glass, drag him over to Penguin Sniper and bend him over the billiards table.
He then remembered he was in prison, and cursed the transparent barrier that separated the two of them. He then cursed himself for thinking with his dick.
“Uh, it's a long story.” He began, sheepish. “You might think it's a bit stupid.” He continued in that tentative tone, far removed from the desirable ideas he had earlier. Kurusu had the urge to twirl a lock of his shaggy hair or rub the back of his stiff neck, but the rusty chains that bound his hands forbid him from doing so.
“Time is hardly an issue. And I know you've always been a bit too reckless.”
Figures. No one knew him better. “How did you know I was here in the first place?”
Goro sighed, face shifting into a look more like curiousity. “Takamaki phoned me just after midday. She said you were taken in by the police at your old teacher's wedding reception.”
Of course Ann would be the one to send Akechi to his rescue. While Akira would be the first to shine her shoes in endless gratitude, he wished she could’ve also saved him the need to recount that pitiful story. It wasn't something he was proud of.
As Akira remained silent, Goro continued. “She's awfully busy with work at her agency, so she asked me to pay you a visit instead since I had the time. What did you do, Akira?”
Akira found that he started to worship the glass barrier for being there. He'd certainly need it for cover after he told Akechi the unfortunate truth.
“Listen, it wasn't really my fault.” He straightened in his seat a little, thinking desperately about how to keep the story brief and spare the inconvenient details.
“At Kawakami's wedding, Ann and I were joking about how, if Ryuji were there, he'd probably try and hit on the women since everyone was so nicely dressed. Then, I said to Ann that I bet I could ‘steal more hearts’ than Ryuji, and…”
He paused, exhaling. Akira could already sense Goro's growing disdain.
“Ann said I was being too loud, and security overheard. They labelled me as suspicious, and apparently what I said coincided with some criminal activity in the area. Kinda ironic, right? Makes me wonder if a new generation of Phantom Thi-”
“You were arrested for something as bullshit as that!?” Goro slammed his left palm on the small metal counter in front of his chair, eyebrows knotted in anger. Kurusu almost laughed; while Goro was often unpredictable, his reaction was bound to be something like this.
“Don't get mad at me,” Akira raised his hands with a teasing smile as if to claim innocence, chains jingling behind the glass. “I was decided as the most likely suspect. Not sure where they got that from.”
Akechi scoffed, a harsh sound with a snarky edge.
“Your previous charges were handled and dissolved years ago. They shouldn't be convicting you because of those records.” He mused, arms crossed and eyelids shut as he spoke his thoughts aloud.
“Mm.” Kurusu hummed in agreement, attempting to try his own hand at thinking, but he wasn’t sure how he as the supposed perpetrator could do anything in this scenario, locked up until his trial.
But… Goro could, couldn’t he?
There was a glint behind his frames, a certain look of mischief that lifted the ends of his lips in a smirk. The kind he wore when targetting a shadow's weakness or pulling off a hat trick in darts.
Akechi was currently pursuing a law degree. In addition, he often undertook minor cases as an attorney thanks to Nijima’s support - a fact that was the master key to Akira's freedom.
He was disappointed that he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Kurusu had been too distracted by the man’s sundry expressions, pretty chestnut hair and how his eyes held the colour of cherries to even think about his convenient profession as a defence lawyer.
He really was Akira’s savior from this bleary hellhole. A divine angel who descended as a blessing from one Ann Takamaki whom he would be sure to buy sweets for once he had attained his own sweet taste of freedom.
The dullness of the detention centre had been completely drowned out. Akira's head was full of sugary plans and even sugarier people to carry them out for him.
Goro must have caught on, as his pensive expression changed to immediate skepticism. He sat up straighter in his seat before averting his eyes, giving Akira a gorgeous view of his pretty side profile and prominent jawline.
“You know, your thoughts have become much easier to read over the years. When we were in highschool, I felt as though I could never ascertain what goes on behind those thick frames of yours.” His gaze flitted back, harsh and piercing.
Akira’s smirk only widened, a schemer's face. “So?”
The other man sighed lowly. Usually a sound like that would indicate defeat, but Akechi would never willingly sign up for such a thing. He must have visited Akira with the intention to defend him all along, and that thought almost made him blush.
“…I will ask Sae-san if I can sign the forms to handle your defence. I doubt it will be much of a challenge, given how utterly baseless your arrest was.”
Akira deflated, gleeful and victorious. “Ohh, thank you so much, Goro, really. Is this why the adults say it’s good to befriend a lawyer?”
His praise caused a light brushing of red to creep up Goro's cheeks. The sight of it gave Akira a wave of satisfaction and some other feeling he couldn't name.
“I hope your newly wedded highschool teacher didn't tell you that.”
A laugh escaped Kurusu’s chest, a light and airy sound that had been long forgotten since he arrived here. He missed it; he missed Goro. If they had met today under more normal circumstances, Akira would have urged Akechi to come by Leblanc more often, or head to Kichijoji to play darts or visit Jazz Jin or maybe some of the more visceral ideas he had thought of earlier.
Akechi stood from his chair moments after, lightly brushing off his slacks and straightening the shirt collar that protruded from under his jumper. The thought of Goro’s absence brought back a sinking weight in Akira’s gut.
Goro cleared his throat and checked his watch. “I'll be visiting again in the next few days to ask questions in the client rooms, if I am permitted to defend you.” He confirmed, the beginnings of a crooked smirk on his lips. “I make no promises.”
“Will you visit even if you can't?”
The question clearly took Akechi by surprise. He hesitated when thinking up a reply, and Akira laughed once more.
“Depends. You'll have to wait and see.”
“Waiting is all I'll be doing, Goro.” Akira returned with a lazy smile, attempting to rest his head on his chained-up arms.
Akechi motioned away from the glass, exiting the visiting room via the only creaky door beyond the glass. Kurusu exhaled vehemently.
His next few days were likely to be dull and trying, but hopefully better than the other instances where he'd been confined against his will. The thoughts of his past imprisonments felt like icicles against his skin.
But this wasn't so bad. There were no Gods or Personas or a Sae Nijima with a phone to aid his escape. But there was a shaggy-haired brunette behind the visiting room glass. One who would not kill him this time around, and one who Akira would very much look forward to seeing.
He and Goro would work together for his freedom. Until now, Akira had failed to realise they would be on the same team this time, and there was hardly any room for their protracted rivalry to seep into the cracks. Yet, memories of Akechi’s betrayal surfaced in his mind at the thought of teamwork with the man, but his unwavering faith and confidence in Goro triumphed that evocation. He had changed since that time, Akira knew it and had witnessed his growth first hand.
And maybe this time around, they would save eachother from fate’s clutches instead.
After he returned to his holding cell, Akira stared at a stain on the stony celling and began to think. He thought about his friends, the brusque inmates he could hear in the neighbouring cells, and more than all of that, he thought about Goro. Seeing him so briefly and under such dire circumstances - it made Akira's body itch and tingle in a way indescribable.
It felt like a stray hair was poking his eye or like that state of unease when a fusion alarm was blaring in the Velvet Room. He hated it, and would much rather confront these feelings head-on than be forced to mull it over behind bars.
He wanted to invite Akechi round Leblanc, telling him to stay the whole day like the Thieves used to during highschool summers. He and Goro would sit on his dull, tawny couch and play games or debate about Featherman or watch movies and inch slightly closer as they yearned for eachothers’ warmth in the chills of mid-November. Akira would make them curry and coffee, observe how content Goro looked as he inhaled the rich aroma of ‘Jamaican Blue Mountain’ and laugh heartily as they talked of recent happenings. They would return upstairs or head to the Yongen bathhouse, where they would-
“-ou there! Oi!”
A low voice tore Akira out of his imagined euphoria, snapping him back to the present and back inside his steel box of nightmares. He sat up on the mattress and looked through the bars, eyes focusing on a figure the cell opposite. The man was pressed up to his own metal barring, eyes pointed at Akira with a mildly agitated expression.
“The hell you dreamin’ about, son? I've been shoutin’ after you for ages!” His speech was wobbly and aggressive, matching his unkempt appearance and how his arms flailed as he spoke. Kurusu didn't like to judge based on appearances, but this man wasn't someone he particularly wished to get involved with.
He then remembered he was in prison, after all. Every inmate was either a felonious criminal or an unfortunate victim of the holes in Japan's justice system.
“Did you need something?” Akira returned flatly, adjusting his glasses with a small level of difficulty.
He scoffed. “Someone, yeah! I've been bored to bits in here. What are you in for, huh?”
Akira shuffled again, turning to face the man beyond the small corridor sandwiched between two rows of metal barring. He concluded that a conversation would be fine; its not as though he had anything better to do, aside from dreaming about his handsome rival.
“I'm not sure myself.” He answered. It was somewhat the truth after all - he barely knew the charges he was given. If Akechi was permitted to handle the case, he thought, he would sooner know more than Akira himself.
“That right, huh…” The man replied, a ladder of wrinkles prominent on his forehead as he furrowed his eyebrows. They went quiet for a short moment as a patroller crossed a nearby corridor. Then, he continued.
“Ya’ think you're innocent?”
A strange question, Akira thought. Surely anyone would have a definite answer: criminal or victim, guilty or not guilty. He had the idea that there was rarely a situation when someone wouldn't know. The complex question led him down a spiral of thoughts, bringing back studies he remembered about human cognition and psychology which he quickly buried once more. That was the last memory he needed to reflect on right now.
Akira nodded with conviction as he replied, “I know I'm innocent.”
As soon as the words were spoken, the man erupted into a boisterous laughter. It was far too loud and distracting for covert prison conversations, but still harmless and lit up their dead cells with a small semblance of life. It reminded Akira of the Thieves, how the soft and traditional café of Leblanc held a new and exciting buzz whenever the group assembled. It was something tangible and pulsing, a feeling he now longed for so badly that it left a gaping hole in his gut.
He then recalled the other times he felt that yearning ache, and thus, his thoughts rounded back to Goro Akechi. But before he could fall any deeper into that rift, the old man ceased his laughter and spoke.
“And I know you'll be just fine, kid. It happens, unfortunately. Just another blip in the road, yeah?” A hint of affection laced his speech, reminding Akira briefly of Sojiro. The corners of his lips upturned at the thought of his caretaker, but soon became neutral. Kurusu realised all he was doing is dredging up memories. When in solitude, every little thing reminded him of the people that made his life whole. A testament to how much they truly mattered to him.
A life locked behind bars could not possibly worth living, he thought. But he wouldn't remain here. It was a blip in the road, like the old man said.
“Yeah.” Akira returned, his tone having lost its confidence. He was tempted to ask the man's own reasons for being here, but refrained. At the moment, they were equals. People both confined against their will, regardless of innocence or guilt. He didn't want to overturn such a fair exchange by discovering potential faults of his fellow inmate.
Instead, he shifted the topic to distract himself from unpacking the ever-present box of reminiscence in his mind. Something more lighthearted, he thought. Something the old man would like to hear…
“My boyfriend might be defending me.” He stated, a small grin creeping on to his face. He and Akechi were not dating, despite the number of times Akira wished for it on stars before bed or how Morgana complained about bringing him up too much. It wasn’t true. Goro would likely kill him for even entertaining the thought.
The man spluttered before his mouth hung open for a little bit, a reaction that should have been expected, Kurusu realised. He then hummed something inaudible that Akira strained to hear, before looking back through the bars once more with a different temperament.
“You know, good on you, son. But don't be getting heartbreak if he loses. Though not like it'll matter if you're stuck in a cell.” The man returned, voice gruff and hearty.
If Goro lost? Akira had barely considered the thought.
With the two of them, it was always one winner and one loser. Player against player. Rivals even in found friendship. He could barely comprehend that, in this game, Akira played a minor part. He wasn't Akechi's equal here. Goro was the true player, while Akira was more like the pitiful damsel in distress. While it was unique and his friends would find their scenario convenient or amusing, Akira wouldn't know what to do with himself should Goro lose. Even those two words next to eachother don't sound right.
Exactly. They didn’t sound right because Goro wouldn't lose. Akira would return home again, to his friends and his city and his home and his cat.
Him and the man opposite talked for a long while after. Kurusu found that he was surprisingly good company, kind-natured and seeming as though he shouldn't belong here. When Akira finally questioned it, the man merely shook his head with a look of profound sorrow, before continuing on to say that Akira has long to live and shouldn't be worrying about a criminal like him. Kurusu didn't press any further.
Akira spoke about himself and Goro's ‘relationship’ (sparing the jarring details about the Metaverse), and the man listened to his lovesick ramblings with vague interest. He went on and on about Goro's genuine smiles and fluffy hair and slender hands before realising that he was the one now sounding like the old man. Akira stopped himself, a little embarrassed at how long he had gushed.
The man laughed, murmured some witty comment and laughed some more. Akira laughed with him. This wasn't so bad.
After a while, his throat was sore. He told the old man that he could use a cup of coffee, and he replied saying that he would prefer sake. They smiled dimly, before making the wise choice to sleep for the night.
The corridor lights turned off for curfew, the whole floor now shrouded in darkness. Akira would wake up the next morning and repeat it all again, wistfully waiting for any modicum of good news that arrived at his prison cell door.