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What would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow is a question often asked as a fun thought exercise, or an ice breaker at a party, or other such nonsense. A social ritual, a way to get some insight into what other people would do in this inconceivable situation.
It really is a shame, then, that Akechi Goro is never going to get the chance to participate in that particular charade. He doesn’t have to wonder about his answer, after all.
What would he do if he knew he was going to die tomorrow? Why, it’s obvious, really. He’s going to spend his last night on earth making his way to Leblanc through unnaturally thin, happy crowds, unimpeded by traffic or literally anything else. He’s going to listen to a man with delusions of grandeur go on and on about how he can bring them all a better reality—if they’re okay with being his puppets, that is.
He’s going to watch his rival, the one person with any real power in this situation, sit there and listen to it all, his expression unreadable.
He’s going to make sure that Ren doesn’t falter.
He’s going to make sure that he does die tomorrow.
“But I’m still going to ask you, one last time: will you accept the reality I create for you?” Maruki carries on, his attention firmly back on Ren now that Goro’s part in the performance is over.
That’s fine. This is what Goro expected. In that man’s eyes he’s nothing more than a bargaining chip, after all. His opinion is unimportant.
It pissed him off, at first. Being used like that—the lack of agency, the fact that Maruki brought him back for Ren. Ren, of all people. It pissed him off that it all made sense.
Because it would work. Ren has one easily exploitable weakness: he wants to save people. His friends might have been happy in their new reality, but it’s just not enough leverage. They bounced back, after all. Came to their senses. Reassured him that they don’t need Maruki’s help to be happy. Because they really, really don’t. He’s convinced that those fools would be able to find their own happiness even in the pits of hell.
So, who does that leave? Goro, of course. With his pitiful circumstances and his tragic end. Inherently broken, unfixable…unless you have the powers of a god at your disposal. And Ren wouldn’t even have to do anything! Just sit back, give up control, and enjoy. He would even get some puppet strings of his own! Everyone’s happy now, everyone wins.
It was a good plan, he supposes. If Maruki wanted it to work, he should have lobotomized Goro from the start.
He plays his part in the charade perfectly, using the role of background prop to his advantage. From this position, he does what he does best: he observes.
Maruki is painfully transparent, playing the role of a savior so well he really must believe he is one. What he actually is, of course, is a spineless coward. Simple. Unimportant. Not nearly as interesting as the guy Goro’s been watching like a hawk for the past five minutes.
Ren doesn’t move or speak for most of Maruki’s speech. He looks briefly shocked at the revelation. He delivers the calling card, his eyes clear and sharp for just a moment before he hides behind his glasses again. Besides that, he doesn’t even fidget. Just sits there, eerily still.
Maruki leaves.
Ren still doesn’t move.
Morgana is the one to break the silence.
“What are you gonna do?” he asks, turning towards his leader like he’s the only other person in the room.
He might as well be, Goro thinks, bitterly. But that’s fine. This is what he expected.
He moves to stand next to their booth seat, finally drawing attention to himself.
“I’d like to speak with Ren.”
To his credit, Morgana doesn’t argue. He says something before he leaves, but Goro isn’t sure what exactly. Some drivel about trust and whatnot, no doubt—he couldn’t pay attention, because it is then that Ren finally moves and looks at him.
His eyes have always been infuriatingly striking, even hidden as they are behind messy hair and those stupid fake glasses, but the way he’s looking at him now…
It makes Goro bristle, pinned in place like some sort of insect on display. Nipponoluciola cruciata, his brain provides in a voice all too similar to Maruki’s.
He hates it. Hates Ren for holding the pin, for looking at him like he’ll end the whole world right here and now if it means Goro will be saved, if Ren can finally fix the mistake he thinks he made in that engine room.
As if the choice was not Goro’s own.
“So,” he begins, at the same time as Ren says “Do you want some coffee?”
It stops him in his tracks, interrupts his carefully prepared script even more.
“Because I want some coffee,” Ren continues, looking like he doesn’t know exactly what he just fucking did. Like they’re talking about their plans for the evening. Like Goro isn’t trying to secure whatever last bit of agency they have left.
He tries not to snap, with moderate success.
“Can you take this seriously for one fucking second?”
Ren doesn’t reply immediately. Doesn’t look away, either. There’s something about that look that Goro doesn’t like—something that sets his instincts on edge, like there’s danger involved. A challenge. It pisses him off.
He breathes in, counts to four. Breathes out. Counts to four. Never breaks eye contact.
He repeats the process a couple of times before Ren stands up to leave the booth. Goro doesn’t budge, doesn’t move out of his way, because he refuses to lose to him, even if it means that his rival is a mere breath away when he says—
“I am.”
And then he just stands there.
It’s too close. Their noses are practically touching.
Is he posturing? Trying to intimidate him? Playing chicken, seeing who moves first? What are the rules of this particular game? And has it always been so hot in this dingy little café? This isn’t good. He’s getting distracted. Losing control of the conversation. One, two, three... Ren is still just standing there—
“Fine,” he hisses, turning away. A tactical retreat.
Ren’s expression softens, and Goro likes that even less. But his rival doesn’t do much else, just lingers for a few more seconds before he finally moves and takes his place behind the counter.
Goro takes his place, too: second chair from the exit, the row of books in front of him serving as an additional barrier between them, as if the furniture itself wasn’t enough. But it really isn’t, he thinks, taking off his scarf while he watches Ren put on his apron. He’s had to find out that with Joker, no wall is too high.
“I refuse to be controlled by anyone,” he tries again, “least of all your therapist.”
Or you, his mind supplies.
“I know.”
His rival has never been an especially loud person (barring that ridiculous thing he does with his voice when he's Joker), but he is even quieter now, his words barely above a whisper. If Goro was feeling generous, he would chalk it up to Ren concentrating on the task at hand.
He is not feeling generous.
He watches Ren work for a while, contemplates his approach. His rival is good at hiding his thoughts and feelings, but Goro likes to think he has the advantage this time. He’s spent years reading people, peering behind the facade to glimpse their true intentions, their inner workings. He knows how to spot a weakness. And Ren, well…he really isn’t as subtle about this one as he should be. Goro might not understand it, but if he is to play the role of a dangling carrot, then he knows exactly which buttons to press.
“Don't tell me you're really so spineless that you'd consider his offer,” he says, making sure his voice is dripping with disappointment.
Ren doesn’t grace him with an answer, his hands continuing their work with not even a stutter. Idly, almost involuntarily, his brain notes that Ren is using Goro’s favorite blend for the first cup of coffee.
“I don't need your pity, Ren. I choose my own path,” Goro continues, pretending that he doesn't see him put a couple spoons of sugar into the cup, “I chose it in the engine room, I'm choosing it now, and your hesitation is—”
“I'm not hesitating,” Ren interrupts, his tone and expression perfectly neutral, perfectly blank.
He does not elaborate.
Goro closes his eyes. Inhales. One, two, three, four...
Perhaps if he strangles Ren and blames it on Maruki, the thieves will fight the councillor without their leader. They might even win. Their roster is certainly varied enough—
“I figured it out, you know,” Goro's murderous spiral is interrupted by a quiet voice and a cup being placed in front of him, “before today. That you…”
Ren trails off, starting the work on his own coffee. His eyes are hidden. His hands don't shake.
“That I'm dead?” Goro asks, smiling pleasantly, “you really are so smart, Amamiya-kun.”
It's probably not the best strategy, antagonizing Ren in this particular way, but he's feeling petty. And he’s rewarded for it, too—his rival’s face shows the first real emotion of the evening: he grimaces.
“You're being such an asshole right now. See if I add sugar for you next time.”
Goro takes a sip of his coffee. It's the best he's ever had, as always.
“I like it without sugar.”
He doesn’t mention that there will be no next time. Ren doesn’t reply, either—just rolls his eyes. Sure you do.
Goro knows he shouldn’t let this moment linger. He should put the pressure back on, should make Ren give him the right answer, should make him promise.
But he hesitates. And hesitates. And it’s the last goddamn cup of coffee he’s going to have in his sorry excuse of a life.
He takes another sip, still silent.
And then, with despair, he realizes: he already misses this.
There has always been a part of him that he’s despised. Something needy, something weak, something that wants stupid things like love or comfort, something he’s done his best to bury. Something that takes a mile if one gives it an inch. And this is exactly the problem, isn’t it? Ren is always just so generous.
And it still doesn’t change a thing. He still has to die tomorrow. People like him don’t get to have a second chance, after all. All he gets is a choice: die as himself, or become someone else's puppet. Again. Which is as good as dead, anyway.
A moment ago, the right option was much more obvious.
“So, yeah, I figured it out,” Ren, blissfully unaware of the sort of damage he just caused, continues, “and Maruki was right about one thing.”
He lifts his eyes from the counter to find Goro’s own. Pins him in place with that look again—way more Joker than Ren.
“I refuse to lose you.”
Ah.
Disappointment has never been quite this painful before.
“So,” Goro snarls, “infiltrating the palace was just, what, a formality? A way to placate me?”
He realizes, in that moment, the real reason he came here today. Controlling the situation, making sure the right choice is made—that was all bullshit. He never actually believed Ren would turn out to be a spineless fucking coward.
The real reason, it turns out, is laughably simple.
Shooting out of the seat, he slams his hands on the counter.
“Oh, let Akechi have some fun before he gets brainwashed, is that it?!”
Ren was supposed to be better than this, and yet here he is, throwing away Goro’s freedom—
No, even worse than that: his own.
His agency, everything they’ve worked for, everything Goro no longer has, for what? A madman’s idea of paradise?
Because of him?!
Goro nearly flings the cup of coffee right at Ren’s head from the insult of it all.
“Don’t put words into my mouth,” Ren frowns.
The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to look quilty.
“Oh, you don't like that? Better get used to it,” he’s grateful for the anger, at least. It clears his mind of sentimental drivel. “Maruki is going to do much worse!”
“We're not taking the offer, Akechi.”
Goro barely suppresses an unbelieving laugh.
“Then what the fuck do you mean, Ren?”
Ren looks back almost exasperated, nearly slamming the kettle down, and hurriedly crosses back around the counter, putting himself halfway between him and the exit.
As if he thinks Goro is about to bolt out the door.
Maybe he is.
“I meant what I said. We’re not taking the offer.”
Ren’s posture is not unlike the one he adapts in the metaverse: slightly crouched, hands ready for action, as if he’s confronting a cornered animal. Goro would laugh, if he wasn’t absolutely fucking furious.
“That’s not the part I meant and you know it.”
It’s ridiculous, it’s the stupidest thing in the world—this influence that Ren has on him. Years and years of expertly keeping a lid on his temper while dealing with all sorts of disgusting people, while dealing with Shido, and this one guy makes him fly off the handle without even trying.
“I’ll explain it, I promise,” Ren lifts his hands, straightens up, surrenders with visible effort, “just…sit back down. Please?”
“Explain first,” Goro grits through his teeth, “and I will consider it.”
His rival concedes, tension visibly leaving his posture. He lowers his arms, puts them in his pockets, adapts his usual slouch—a perfect picture of nonchalance.
Goro can't help but notice that he's still blocking the way to the door.
“You've seen what he did to Sumire,” Ren starts, looking at the floor, “how he just…changed her.”
He huffs, looks at Leblanc's ceiling. Goro can see the muscles of his jaw working as if he's gritting his teeth, and-
Ah.
Now that he knows what to look for, it all clicks into place. Ren is angry. Has been this entire time, ever since Maruki walked through that door and opened his mouth.
Goro chooses not to examine what it is that he feels at the realization.
“As if it didn't matter who she was, as long as she was happy. And then I thought about what he would do to you…” he runs a hand through his hair, frustration starting to seep into his body language, “how he would... fix you.”
Ren says the word with disgust, as if the mere idea is offensive to him. Goro feels something warm stir in his chest again, and immediately bristles.
“Oh, I'm sure he'd make me delightful,” he huffs, “I've no idea why you sound so offended.”
“Because I like you,” Ren all but snaps, “I don't want some- some stranger with your face, I want you. Is it really that hard to-”
He throws his hands up in frustration, his mask finally thrown aside.
Goro already regrets all of this.
“Get to the point,” he snaps right back.
“This is the point!”
Ren rushes forward, stopping just before the invasion of personal space becomes too much for Goro, as if he knows exactly which boundaries not to cross.
But he does, doesn’t he? Even now, agitated as he is, Ren thinks of shit like this. Knows exactly where to push, where to give. No one else has ever known. It’s infuriating. It’s why Goro is still here, held in place by feelings he refuses to name.
“I would never have taken his stupid fucking offer, Akechi,” Ren almost sounds like he’s pleading—trying to tell him something he’s not actually saying, “not just because it's the right choice, but because I’m selfish.”
Goro knows what it is that he isn’t saying. He knows it so surely that it chokes him, demands to be acknowledged, twists his insides to the point of pain. Because nothing is ever fucking easy with Ren.
“Why would you say that now? What's the point?” his voice comes out hoarse. He’s far past caring.
“I’m saying it because I think that Maruki is full of shit,” Ren reaches out, takes Goro’s right hand with his left, “and I refuse to believe that you’re dead.”
“What do you even—You heard him,” Goro yanks his hand back, gestures towards the booth Maruki just recently vacated, “he confirmed it.”
It’s the only option available, anyway. He’s tried to remember what happened after Shido’s palace many, many times. Came up with nothing, over and over again. Maruki’s words, however much of a formality they might have been, were just the last nail in the coffin (ha).
Yet here Ren is, crowbar in hand, trying to pry it open.
“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” his rival steps even closer, testing the limits. In his bewilderment, Goro lets him. “Back at the laundromat. That you’re offended I’d even think you were dead.”
He speaks with a sort of desperate determination, as if just believing enough is going to make it true. As if this sort of bullshit isn’t the reason they’re in this situation in the first place. Goro wants to scream, or punch him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and do something they will both regret. Why does Ren always have to make everything so fucking complicated? Why does he make Goro want things? He made up his mind already, made his peace with it all, and now Ren is spouting some fairy tale bullshit, and the thing is—
The thing is, he wants it as much as Ren does. He wants to stay.
He doesn’t get to.
“Ren,” too tired to keep up any pretense, Goro lets himself sound just as miserable as he feels, “I was just changing the subject.”
“Akechi, just think about it...” Ren takes both of his hands now, his grip almost painful.
“You think I haven’t?”
The silence that descends upon Leblanc is deafening.
And it would be. He just yelled, after all.
He didn’t mean to, really, but…
Goro feels like a rabid animal being dissected, still alive and thrashing, and he lets it happen. What’s the point of keeping up the facade when they both know it's bullshit? So he lets Ren do it, lets him drag all the things he’s kept hidden up to the surface, all but hands him the scalpel, because he’s just so damn sick of pretending they want different things, of pretending he’s okay with any of this.
“Of course you have,” Ren looks away. If Goro didn’t know any better, he would think that he’s feeling chastised. “I just…How would Maruki know?”
Now, there’s a question. How would a man that inherited the powers of a fucking god know anything?
“Do you really want me to grace that with an answer?”
Ren is still holding his hands. His grip is gentler now, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the leather of his gloves. Goro isn’t sure if he’s glad for this barrier between them, or if he wants it gone. But it’s not like it matters, really. Over and over again, without failure, Ren finds his way past whatever walls or distance he tries to create, like a particularly stubborn bulldozer.
“I don't think he knows,” Ren looks at him again, his voice soft and quiet, “I think he's just assuming.”
Goro has tried to figure out the reason for it. To gather intel, to get a leg up, to satisfy his savior complex—he considered all of it, while ignoring the simplest explanation: Ren is selfish. Joker is a thief. And Goro is something-someone he wants badly enough that a would-be-god brings him back from the dead just for Ren. Offers him on a silver platter, with a promise of making him better, happier, more palatable.
But Ren is selfish, and Joker is a thief, and so something like that isn’t worth taking. He wants the real Goro, hidden behind all his walls and barricades. A challenge.
But even he can’t make it past that bulkhead door.
“I know, Ren,” his voice is surprisingly steady, considering that he feels like he’s choking, “I don’t remember anything after Shido’s palace. The evidence is not in my favor.”
“How about a bet, then?” Ren asks with that signature smirk on his face, and Goro laments the fact that they know each other way too well, because he can see the cracks in it, “since I don’t think we’ll agree.”
He considers keeping the argument going, fighting just for the sake of it, but…
He has nothing left to hide. He’s broken all the taboos he set up for himself in the span of one evening, one conversation. Let himself name all those feelings, acknowledge all the conclusions he’s been avoiding, and for fucks sake, he’s going to be dead tomorrow.
He can let Ren have this.
“Sure,” he laughs, no real mirth behind it, “whatever. Why the fuck not.”
Ren smiles again, a sad little thing that doesn’t really reach his eyes, and a part of Goro preens at it. He’s seen his rival smile many different ways—cocky smirks in the metaverse, shit-eating grins when he lands a triple 20 in darts, genuine happy ones with his friends, obligatory imitations while doing customer service…But this one? This one is just for him.
There is no better proof, to Goro, that Ren will miss him. That this will hurt him.
He’s selfish, too, after all. He wants to be remembered.
“If, or rather when, I win,” Ren brings Goro’s right hand up to his face, presses a kiss against his knuckles, “you have to promise that you’ll find me. That you’ll let me know you’re okay.”
How stupid. How naive.
Goro never wanted to lose more in his life.
“And if I win?” he challenges, nonetheless.
“If you win,” Ren says, looking like he just took a sip of convenience store coffee, “then I promise that I will do everything in my power to give you a proper funeral. I’ll hire a professional mourner and everything.”
That makes Goro snort.
“You’re not even going to wail and throw yourself at my coffin on your own?” he says, incredulous, not bothering to hide the surprised smile from his face or voice, “you’re going to outsource it?”
“I’m going to be absolutely bereft, don’t get me wrong,” Ren smiles, too, like he’s happy Goro took the bait, “but one must keep face in public. You understand.”
Sure. Whatever. Why the fuck not. He can play along. He’s not cruel.
“Tell me you’ll at least break all the plates in your house from the grief?”
Ren positively grins, textbook definition of blinding. Goro hoards that one, too.
“Oh, absolutely. I’ll even shave all my hair.”
Goro laughs, can’t quite tell if it's genuine or hysterical, but he can’t stop it anyway, so who cares. Ren smells blood in the water and keeps going.
“You know, it’s going to be 5am on a sleepless night, and I’ll just be there, on the bathroom floor, clippers in hand. Wailing,” he lets go of Goro’s hands so he can pose like a lovelorn heroine of a theatre play, “Disturbing the neighbors.”
“Fucking stop,” Goro wheezes, bent in half from the fit, “shut the fuck up-”
“Just making sure you know I’ll miss you,” Joker says. And then, much softer, Ren continues, “so promise me you’ll at least send me a letter. You know, once it’s all over. Because I will win.”
Gods damn it, he wants to believe in this as much as Ren does.
Goro wipes at his eyes, realizes he's been crying. Wants to blame it on the laughing fit, but in truth, he doesn't know what caused it, exactly. He’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to die tomorrow. His coffee is delicious and still unfinished. Ren is a stubborn fucking bastard, and he loves him for it.
“I promise,” he concedes, “if you make me some fucking curry. I’m starving.”
Ren smiles, the thing so fond it would have made Goro run right out the door half an hour ago.
“Alright. But you know, it takes a while,” he frowns, scratches his chin, playing pretend like he’s not just going to reheat some leftovers, “so you should probably stay the night.”
Sure. Whatever. Why the fuck not.
It’s late, and cold, and he’s tired, and he’s going to die tomorrow, and Ren wants him here.
And so he stays.
Life, he’s come to find out, is surprisingly dull after you save the world. Twice.
Of course, living in the countryside probably doesn’t help, but Ren really thought that between all that and the grief, it would feel different. That something will change. But life just keeps going, regardless of how he feels about it, and so he has no other choice but to catch up.
He goes to school, ignores the rumors, stays out of his parents’ way, checks the mailbox religiously, and goes on long walks with Morgana.
Sometimes they go fishing.
Sometimes it even feels like he’s not crawling out of his skin.
It’s all just so mundane, there’s no other word for it. It used to be enough. It used to be the only thing he knew. Now, after everything, after Tokyo, after Goro…
He’s not sure how he ever thought it was enough.
But, again. Life goes on.
And so he goes to school, ignores the rumors, stays out of his parents’ way, checks the mailbox—finds it empty, like it always is…
Hold on.
Ren doubles back, heart racing, stupid, getting worked up over a bill again, and pulls out an unassuming white envelope.
The sender is a name he doesn't recognize, but the single, hand-written line that greets him once he opens the letter leaves no place for doubt as to his identity.
I guess you win.
And suddenly, just like that, his whole world changes.
Ren laughs, because of course Akechi Goro is alive, and just as much of an asshole as he always is. Never one to take a loss laying down, is he? Fine. Ren doesn’t intend to lose, either.
He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of the sender information, and opens his chat app.
Ren: hey
Futaba: lemme guess, you want me to run a check on that name and address?
Ren: do you ever Not spy on me?
Futaba: is that a no? ಠ_ಠ
Ren: its a yes 😔
Futaba: thats what i fuckign thought
Futaba: consider it done (⌐■_■)
He really should thank her properly sometime. And get a burner phone, maybe. Definitely put a sticker over the camera on this one. Why haven’t he done it yet? Oh, right, because there was fuck all going on in his life.
He puts the phone back in his pocket and grins.
The game is on.