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As soon as Ann finishes knocking on the door, she regrets her decision. It’s the swift, “I’ll get it” that echoes from the other side that unnerves her. To her knowledge, Akira lives alone.
Straightening up, Ann shakes it off. Someone must be visiting. Someone Akira hasn’t cut out of his life. Which means it isn’t anyone she knows.
When the door creaks open, her worst fears manifest. From the front door, with a view of the entire kitchen, living room, and part of the hallway, she can see that Akira is alone. He blinks at her, looking surprised but delighted. Relief washes over her as he smiles. It’s as sincere and welcoming as it always used to be.
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” He turns over his shoulder, announcing her presence. “It’s just Ann!” His brows furrow as he tilts his head to listen to a reply she can’t hear. “Don’t give me that. You like Ann.”
Ann’s stomach lurches. Ryuji warned her about this: Akira’s increasingly concerning habit of talking with exactly no one — neither the former thieves nor any sentient presence he could sense. She doesn’t know the details, but she does know Ryuji confronted him about it. It’s the same incident that caused Akira to begin cutting ties. The conversation didn’t go well for reasons Ryuji won’t discuss.
Maybe she should have taken it as an omen that Morgana refuses to go near the apartment building.
She tries to hide her discomfort with an apology. “Sorry if this visit is inconvenient, I-”
Akira laughs, bright and spirited. “No, no. I promise you’re not interrupting anything. Come on in.”
Her deluge of troubled thoughts seize at Akira’s jovial demeanor. He seems happy. Extremely happy. The kind of joy she’s never witnessed on him before. It would be reassuring, if she wasn’t here to investigate his recent penchant for solitude.
Akira guides her to the closest seating, pulling up a stool alongside her at the kitchen island. He’s still all smiles, a strange energy exuding from him as he folds his hand beneath his chin. A wildness laces his features — a too wide smile and too bright eyes. It makes her nervous to speak. She doesn’t have to wait long before a string of questions tumble out of his mouth.
“How’ve you been? What have you been up to? Why haven’t I seen you much?”
Ann blinks. The interrogation was supposed to be in the opposite direction. She laughs, knowing he’ll clock her poor lying skills, and plays it off as best she can. “Shouldn’t I be asking you first? You’ve been busier than I have.”
A ripple of confusion crosses Akira’s face. “I suppose I have, but I figured it would be obvious. I just came back from celebrating my anniversary.” His smile returns, a little less bright. “Did you really forget that I got married last year?”
Her tranquil countenance devolves into one of mild panic. Married? Someone she considers one of her closest friends — married? Without her knowing? She glances at his hand, astonished she didn’t notice the ring earlier. At least, if the jewelry is anything to go by, he’s telling the truth. She cows slightly, feeling terrible for forgetting something like that, even if she’s unsure she was informed of it in the first place.
“Akira, I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind.” She cautiously adds, “I suppose it’s because I didn’t get invited to the wedding.”
Akira nods, shrugging it off, to Ann’s relief. “Of course, you’re right. My husband wanted it to be small, especially since we had to go out of Japan to get married.”
Hoping to get more information about this husband, Ann leans forward. “So, tell me about it. All the things you loved and how beautiful the wedding was.”
Akira pulls his hands down to his lap, twisting his wedding ring back and forth with a dreamy expression. “We got married on a beach, and I wore a grey suit. We only had one decoration — an arch made of flowers. The day was sunny and bright. It was incredible — everything was so simple, so easy. I was able to solely focus on my husband. And you should have seen him… He looked beautiful.”
Curiosity supersedes her doubt. “Describe him to me.”
Akira’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs happily, vanishing into his thoughts as he pulls forth the memory. “His hair was pulled back in a soft French braid. Wisps of it fell across his cheeks and made him look ethereal. He wore a soft taupe suit, kind of like the one he used to wear in high school all the time, but the color was richer.”
Ann frowns at that. High school? He’s known his husband since high school? She wracks her brain, trying to think of anyone who wore beige all the time, but before she can get a grasp on who it might be, Akira continues.
“We wore matching red lilies.” He hums softly. “The color brought out his eyes so beautifully. He’s always been a looker, but on our wedding day, he was just perfect.”
“That sounds absolutely lovely. Do you have matching rings too?”
“Oh no, absolutely not. Go-” Akira stops mid-sentence, head tilting toward the hallway. His face is blank, eyes glossed over, looking at nothing as he listens and understands.
Ann grips her knees, a tightness in her chest at the strangeness going on in front of her. “Is something-”
Before she can even get the question out, Ann begins to shiver, struck suddenly by a chill that leaches into her body, stealing away every ounce of warmth. She gasps for air, all of her muscles tensing and tugging against her bones, dragging her away from Akira. Resisting the urge to run, Ann watches as the fabric of Akira’s shirt bows inward, pressed against his waist as if a hand was resting there. She trembles again as fear bleeds into her full-body shuddering.
Teeth clattering, Ann sucks in a sharp breath and attempts to speak, but the shock of warmth returning to her core stuns her into silence. She belatedly realizes that Akira has stood up and moved away from the kitchen island, poised at the entrance to the hallway.
“I’m sorry, Ann. Give me a moment.” He smiles, but it’s unmistakably laced with disappointment. “I have to have a discussion with my husband. Feel free to look around.”
After he disappears further into the apartment, Ann takes in a large, quivering breath. She pats her face, wiping up the clammy sweat that broke out across her forehead, and gathers her bearings before attempting to move. When she feels sufficiently stable, she slides to her feet and tiptoes away from the kitchen. As she passes, Ann peeks into the hall, and Akira’s soft voice barely reaches her. She isn’t sure if that makes her feel safer or not, but curiosity gets the better of her and she turns toward the living room.
On first glance, the space is homey. A plush couch claims center stage, flanked by side tables that have books stacked high. More interesting are the dozens of pictures lining the walls, each and every one of them showcasing a smiling Akira. It would be a pleasant sight, if it weren’t for the oddness emanating from each frame. She frowns at the photos, squinting to get a better look at the details. As she gets close, something changes. The alteration is gradual but enough to stop her in her tracks. Her heart squeezes in her chest, and her stomach tightens as a shimmering figure settles into the frame alongside Akira.
She stops breathing, eyes glued to auburn eyes, tawny hair, and a subtly smiling face. She recognizes him instantly — Goro Akechi. A faint sweat breaks out over her brow, but she gravitates toward the collection of photos. Akechi is dead — lost to the world when he sacrificed himself to hold back his own Shadow. It’s impossible he’s alive.
Isn’t it?
She thinks back to Akira’s description of his groom and has second thoughts.
Perhaps Akira found a doppelgänger. And if that’s true, surely there’s a logical explanation for the photos. Digital frames exist, after all.
Ann rubs her eyes to clear her vision and moves on to the next picture. It’s the wedding Akira described. At least, she assumes so, given Akira’s outfit, the red lily, and the cutesy wedding bells at the top of the frame. Though, nothing is quite the same as he told it. It’s the beach, Akira, overcast skies, and nothing else. As she stares, something in the frame flickers like the previous one. Frowning, Ann picks up the photo, clutching it tightly. Akira’s arm, once wrapped around nothing, now holds the waist of his partner. Ann’s heart picks up speed, and she puts the photo back, growing woozy.
She’s not out of her mind. There’s an explanation for this — a perfectly reasonable, sane explanation. If the frames aren’t digital, it’s something else. She grabs another picture, fingernail tapping against the glass. It’s a trick of the light, then. Ann turns over the frame, unlatching it and tugging out the print. In her hands, as if the photo was a developing polaroid, a second figure joins Akira. Ann’s stomach twists, suddenly nauseated with dread. She presses her hand to her forehead and takes a deep breath.
After a few calming breaths, she looks at the photo again. Akechi is still there, the same smug smile on his face. The same smug smile and… A shiver courses over Ann’s body, covering her from head to toe. She isn’t sure why she didn’t notice earlier.
Reaching over, Ann picks up the wedding photo, holding it side-by-side with the picture in her hand. In both images, Goro Akechi wears the same suit — certainly not the rich taupe tuxedo that Akira described earlier. No. He’s wearing a black and blue striped outfit, paired not with a red lily, but with a large dark red bloom of a different breed over the side of his chest. If she looks closely, she might be able to pinpoint a bullet hole instead of a pistil. Ann swallows hard, face draining of blood. As she takes in the details, Akechi’s smile sharpens, teeth glinting in the reflection of the glass. Ann gasps and drops the photos. The frames clatter to the ground, fracturing as they hit the tile flooring.
Swearing under her breath, Ann kneels to clean up the mess. Behind her, Akira quickly pads into the living room.
“Is everything okay?”
Ann keeps her head down, heart still pounding with a jolt of fear. “Yeah! Sorry, I’m just a klutz.” She scoops the fragments into her hands, carrying them to the kitchen island. “I’m so sorry, Akira. I’ll buy you new ones.”
Akira leans over, sighing at the shards of porcelain and glass. “Goro bought those for me… He’s not going to be very happy when he sees that.”
“Goro Akechi…?” Her mind lodges on his name, turning all of her theories into ash.
Akira’s body language changes — suddenly rigid — wary of the way Ann mutters. His voice is tense, though he tries to sound humorous. “Is there another Goro Akechi who’s not my husband?”
A chill manifests nearby, and Ann’s breathing quickens. She steps back a bit and plasters a fake smile on her face. “N-no. Of course not.” Ann tries to play off her reaction as normal, but it ultimately fails. She’s too jittery for it to appear as anything close to casual.
Across the kitchen island, the faucet turns on. Ann’s head whips toward the sound, staring blankly as she sees a sliver of black and blue stripes in the chrome handles of the sink. Alarm sears through her mind, and her thoughts scream at her to run — to save herself from whatever is lurking in this place. Whatever Akira has made bedfellows of.
But she can’t. She won’t abandon a friend like that. Not until she knows he’s safe. Ann drags a hand down her face, taking in a slow, deep breath before she peeks again at the spout. There’s no water. There’s no reflection. It’s as if there was nothing there in the first place.
Akira’s voice breaks through her disarray of manic thoughts. “Ann, you don’t look well. Is everything okay?” He sounds concerned. She glances at him, eased just a touch by his worried expression.
“I’m fine, thank you. I think I just need some fresh air.”
The glass at the end of the kitchen island shifts, clinking against the shattered porcelain frame as it’s arranged from a pile into a flat collection of shards. Ann’s eyes dart toward it, watching the organization of broken pieces with rapt attention.
Akira sighs, voice soft and placating. “She didn’t mean to. She said sorry.”
He tilts his head back, seemingly studying something that’s not there. Ann would believe that, if she didn’t see the indents of fingers against Akira’s neck and the way his skin grows hazy — as if she’s viewing him through a bottle of water. She can’t take her eyes off the spot, fearful that if she looks away, Akira will be torn apart by an unseen specter.
“It was an accident, Goro. You know Ann. She would never-” Akira’s gaze trickles down from whatever he’s watching to land on Ann. He gives her a half-hearted smile — one that feels more like a grimace than anything. “Maybe now’s not the best time.” He doesn’t move, but he glances toward the front door. The insinuation is unquestionable.
Ann swallows the fear that’s knotted at the base of her throat. “Akechi is upset, like you said. I-I understand.” She feels like a fool, speaking to the air, but the anxiety to pacify wins out. “I am sorry, Akechi, for what it’s worth. I was just admiring the photos of you and Akira. They’re really-” Ann almost chokes on her words. “-lovely.”
She turns toward the entryway, walking as quickly as her leadened feet can go. The thrumming terror of being faced with an absolute unknown occupying the home of one of her closest friends encourages each step toward the exit. She snatches up her heels and slips them onto her feet, so close to fleeing this place. Possibly for good. Her stubborn spirit, who desperately wants to understand and help Akira out of this situation, convinces her to turn before the door.
The sight before her steals any words she could fathom saying.
Standing in front of a mirror fixed upon the wall beside the shoe rack, Akira looks utterly content. His lips are kissed into a flushed pink, and his cheek dimples with a genuine smile. He sighs happily as his fingers spread and tighten around something Ann cannot see. Until her gaze shifts onto the mirror. The reflection is crystal clear, revealing everything she’s been oblivious to for the last thirty minutes. Goro Akechi stands behind Akira, arms secured tightly around his waist while one hand laces their fingers together. It might be sweet, if it wasn't ominously threatening. His face presses up against Akira’s temple, and Akechi turns and plants a kiss high on Akira’s cheekbone. Akira’s smile widens, and he whispers something — lips moving in what looks like ‘I love you’.
Ann freezes, unable to process what she’s witnessing. She looks back at Akira’s actual body, feeling faint at the realization that what she saw earlier — the blurry, water-like inconsistency where fingers sat at his throat — is in fact the effects of a nearly unseen apparition. It covers him almost entirely now, curled around him protectively — possessively — as it embraces him. When she looks back at the mirror, she startles, gasping as Goro Akechi stares right at her. The same smug smirk as the photos now decorates his features, but here, he seems lively. His eyes are bright, watchful as he begins to speak. His voice grates against her ears, scraping across her skull as it digs into her mind with a rasping voice.
“I know why you are here, Takamaki, but Akira is all mine. Stay in your lane — you don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”
Ann’s breathing picks up, uncertain and terrified at the way Akechi speaks directly into her head. Akira sighs happily again, blissfully none the wiser about what his husband is doing to their guest.
Akechi lifts his hand from Akira’s waist, fingers pulling back quickly, and the front door slams open in tandem.
Akira looks over in response to the sound, eyes flicking across the foyer and Ann as he connects the two. “It was nice seeing you. Don’t be a stranger.”
Akechi’s words sink into Ann’s thoughts again — a warning. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t come back.”
“Akira?” Ann’s voice shakes, but she can’t leave without at least trying. Even if it means getting on his husband’s bad side. “Do you remember what happened to Akechi?”
The eyes watching her glow brighter, coloring a deeper crimson. A prelude of rage. She wonders if Akechi brainwashed Akira — enraptured him so that he forgot. It would explain the warning in his stare.
“In the engine room?” She tries.
Akira turns, wrapping his arms around Akechi and looking directly at Ann as his fingers skate down nothing, reflected in the mirror as he traces over the bullet wound in Akechi’s side. The drip feed of fear that started the moment Ann stepped into the apartment suddenly lets loose, unleashing pure terror into the pit of her stomach as she realizes Akira knows exactly what he’s invited into his home.
“Goro was killed.” He sounds distant, as if he’s whimsically musing about the death of his beloved. “But he wasn’t lost.” His head nestles into thin air, and for a moment, Akechi’s form flickers into existence without the reflection of the mirror. Akira looks up at Ann, his smile a degree too wide and a touch delirious.
“Aren’t I lucky?”