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The infuriating migraine he developed at lunchtime still pounded at the front of his skull even as Goro finally collapsed onto his bed. He’s down-to-the-bone exhausted after the day’s exams, yet he can hardly doze off with more on the horizon. The pain in his head, along with anxiety forcing his mind into an endless loop of metaphorical questions, left Goro fading in and out of consciousness. Without fail, every time the misty hands of sleep tried to claim him, his heart rate would spike and his body screamed at him that he was suddenly falling from a great height. It was a miserable cycle that made him want to cry tears of frustration--or stab himself to sleep. One of the two.
“Fucking heart palpitations,” Goro whisper groaned as he was jolted awake for the fifth time. He had forgotten how stressful being a normal teenager was sometimes. How could stressing over one’s exams possibly compare to putting your life in danger every time you ventured into the Metaverse? Except the Metaverse was gone, and Goro needed to stop comparing everything to it. He was developing the same bad habits as Akira.
Akira. He turned over in his bed to gaze at the opposite side of the room, vaguely hoping that Akira was still awake so that he could initiate a game of chess. He despised asking favors from his rival, and how especially cruel it was to disturb him during midterms, but there was no way Goro would be able to rest if his midnight thoughts continued to ricochet off of his brain like a billiard ball. He blinks once. Twice.
Deep red is soaked into Akira’s sheets. It is splattered across the wall and on the floor in a pattern that could only be created by a sudden impact. Blood pools in the spot just under Akira’s head, which is hanging halfway off the bed; his mouth is halfway open in a suspended scream. The man’s limbs are limp yet mangled, and his wrists are bruised with evidence of previous restraint. The centerpiece of it all was the perfectly circular hole in the center of Akira’s forehead--the source of all of the stains. The demented image was something out of a nightmare, but for Goro, it was a memory.
No-no no no he couldn’t have killed Joker again. He couldn’t have been responsible. There was no way that the man who had bested him again and again was gone. There was no way that the person who had wished him back into existence was gone. There was no way that the crafty leader of the Phantom Thieves would keel over that easily. There were no black gloves covering Goro’s slender digits, nor a devilish smile on his face, nor satisfaction of his triumph in his veins, nor a pistol in his--
Goro nearly passed out and threw up at the same time as he rushed over to Akira’s bed at a speed that rivaled when he used to chase down shadows in Mementos for sport. His hands gripped at his roommate’s shoulders hard enough to shatter bone, and his pupils vibrated as if his very soul was being wrestled into oblivion.
“Kurusu? Can you hear me?” Corpses can’t listen, dumbass, Goro scolded himself. His breathing was out of control, and his whole body felt like it was on the brink of ripping itself apart. Blood continued to pour obscenely from the bullet wound on Akira’s forehead, and his lifeless gaze really made Goro want to stab himself. Before he could inquire and plead and cry and apologize over and over again, however, he was overcome by another wave of dizziness. This time, his body won out over his brain, and his world went maroon-tinted dark.
“--chi? Akechi!”
Goro was startled awake. His knees dug into the hardwood floor of their dorm room whilst his head and arms were sprawled out on the side of Akira’s mattress. His roommate sans glasses was peering down at him, perturbed, like he had just died and come back to life. Given the delirium in his head and the blinding pain in his chest, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had indeed suffered from a heart attack or stroke. It wouldn’t have been the first time he evaded death…or the third.
Goro’s throat felt like it was filled with sand, but he quickly got off of his knees and croaked out, “Don’t worry about it.”
Ever the skillful thief, Akira caught the other man’s wrist before he could pull away. With the moon at its peak, soft light illuminated the scene, leaving them seemingly frozen in time.
“You can’t just scream and pass out on my bed, and then say, ‘don’t worry about it.’ What’s going on?”
Scream? When did he--
“It’s none of your concern,” Goro reiterated, barring his teeth, “just go back to sleep.”
He attempted to yank his arm out of Akira’s grasp, but the serious look in the other man’s eyes alerted Goro that he wasn’t going to let go without a proper explanation. He could have easily concocted a convincing enough lie; he was an expert at putting on a mask from his Detective Prince days. And yet the words that came out of Goro’s mouth surprised even him.
“I remembered the day I shot your double in Sae-san’s palace.”
He wasn’t sure as to why he had been honest. It had to be because pampered college life was making him complacent--or something to that effect. It didn’t help that his emotions were left unregulated after dealing with all of the shit in Maruki’s reality. He was out of his damn mind and the truth slipped from his lips because he didn’t care what happened to him anymore: there was simply no other explanation.
Akira nodded slowly and responded, “And you were overcome with anger because you regret failing to kill me?”
Goro knew that Akira knew the real reason for his episode, but he was offering him an easy out. He could agree with the faux explanation and return to sleep, and they could both pretend like the incident had never occurred. Even if they didn’t touch on the subject tonight, however, Goro feared that Akira would not let escape so quickly if he hallucinated again. Yet again, Goro defied his own expectations and common sense, speaking exactly what was on his mind.
“I was…upset over having to assassinate such a valuable resource. I was motivated to perform better because of our competitions,” he began, but immediately backpeddled, “don’t get it twisted. We were never companions. I still hate you.”
Akira just stared at him. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but Goro was fairly confident that it would be just as indecipherable regardless. He was already starting to have regrets about his confession, but he wasn’t sure if it was over the harshness of his words, or for not pushing him away far enough. The last thing he needed was the leader of the Phantom Thieves to get sentimental with him.
“For someone who hates me and tried to murder me, you sure worry a lot about my well being.”
There were no words to describe the disbelief Goro felt at that moment. All he could do was stare with his mouth agape. He never remembers Akira being this inconsiderate, especially around the people he claimed to care about, unless the joker happened to have a secret apathetic side like he himself possessed.
Goro’s axis was thrown off again when his roommate nonchalantly pulled back his blanket, as if to invite him in. Dark haired, grey eyed Akira Kurusu was reserving a spot in his shitty dorm bed for a monster of a man.
“You don’t have to believe me, but I read that sleeping beside someone you care about improves sleep quality and consistency. Looks like you need it,” Akira explained.
“You’re fucking delusional.”
Goro stuttered at Akira’s ridiculous proposal, and he almost repeated the statement a second time, just for emphasis. Instead, he scoffed and followed up with, “It wouldn’t do anything because I don’t care about you.”
Akira replied almost instantly: “That panic attack you had tells a different story.”
The man’s bluntness continued to catch Goro off guard. Akira was incredibly patient and perceptive. Most of his friends would refer to him as caring, doting even. Goro would rather call him nosey with how much he pressed into their personal lives until an ugly truth was uncovered. His insistence on then helping the other person every step of the way made Goro wonder if he saw himself as a savior, not too unlike the crazy therapist who had offered them a blissfully ignorant world two years prior. Or maybe Akira was just that selflessly devoted to others. That was another bad habit he really had to break: assuming every action had an ulterior motive.
“Think of it this way. You remembering my dead body is the source of your restlessness, right? Maybe if you’re aware that I’m alive beside you, you’ll ease up enough to fall asleep,” Akira supplied.
Akira’s point made sense, and Goro has a hard time arguing against logic given his background, yet he hesitated. Not only would he be lying beside the person he hated most, but doing so would equate to admitting his weakness. Goro Akechi didn’t need help from anyone, but it wasn’t like he had any melatonin on hand either.
He shifted his perspective: it would only be for one night, and he desperately needed sleep for midterms. The practical outlook quelled his insecurities--yes, he was not at all weak, just striving for results.
“Don’t make this weird, Kurusu. And if you tell any of your little friends about this, I will steal your shoelaces and strangle you when you are next fixated on your calculus homework,” he sneered, reluctantly crawling into bed beside his rival.
Akira could only chuckle. The threat informed him that Goro was back to feeling calm, or at least well enough to engage in their back and forth. He was really getting soft. He needed to stay on guard, Goro thought; he couldn't let the saccharine nature of their positions drag the fake smiles and pleasant demeanor back out of him. Joker especially was the last person he wanted to pretend in front of anymore.
“Heh, well that’s certainly more creative than a bullet to the--” Akira paused, taking the hint this time from Goro’s death glare that such a jest was in no way appropriate given the situation.
“Still as gruesomely insensitive as ever. And to think that you have all of your little friends charmed under your thumb.”
“Sorry,” was all that Akira replied.
Goro was already turned with his back towards him. Some small voice in the back of Akira’s head--maybe his suppressed desires or maybe just the teasing asshole in him--told him to ask Goro if he wanted to be held. However drowsy he was, he was conscious enough to know that such an offer would likely end in Goro filling out an application for a new roommate and never speaking to him again, so Akira resisted. As he settled back down on his own side of the bed, however, the concerned side of him couldn’t help but utter into the darkness.
“I’m right here, Akechi. I’m not going anywhere.”
Seconds of silence ticked by, and Akira briefly wondered if his rival had already passed out or was simply ignoring him, until--
“You better not.”