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First, a vibration. A murmur - a sound.
"…….-rate seems to be climbing, stand back a little, we don't know…."
Sensation returns to his lower back in the form of a piercing twinge.
"…..you hear me? Looks like there's movement, here, let's-"
His eyes feel dredged shut. His nose twitches. It smells like death.
He lunges.
"Careful!" A man's voice, directly in front of him. He thrashes. Something's holding him back - hearing the creak of stiff fabric against metal, he pulls harder - and he hears a yelp off to the side. Younger than the other one.
"Please, sir, calm down. You're safe," says the man again. His scent curls into the top of the room, settling into everyone's sinuses. Blueberry alongside the tartness of lemon - homely, comforting, an alpha attempting to soothe. The other person seems to be suppressing hers intentionally, but he smells a burst of sickeningly sweet cotton candy before it's washed over.
His lips curl into a snarl, but he quickly takes stock. The ache in his back is a persistent, heated throb from his sudden movement. He's tied to what seems like a bed. His eyes are still closed.
The room reeks of antiseptic, stinging his gums. On the other side of a wall, wheels roll, people walk by, and voices discuss others, muted. There's a slow, soft beeping coming from his left, and something is stuck in his forearm.
A hospital, then.
Well.
Goro sighs. He sags back against the pillows, exhausted, and slowly drags his eyelids open, blinking a few times to bring the world into focus.
It's a modest sized room. There's a chair in the corner, dented by the presence of years of visitors, under a window that streams in the early morning sunlight. On a small table to his right sits a glass vase with red gladioli, dew clinging to the leaves.
Those were her favorites.
Saline and another aqueous medication are being pumped into his IV line from a rack on his left, next to a heart rate monitor. Every few seconds it pulses, sending another cold rush into his arm.
The man at the foot of his bed - the doctor, presumably - breathes a sigh of relief.
"Good morning, Akechi-san." His smile is gentle, but Goro smells something like joy. He's not sure why. Goro ducks his head in a nod.
"It's always strange, waking up in a hospital, isn't it?" he continues. "We're sorry to have restrained you, but it's protocol for alphas and omegas. I'm sure you understand."
From a few rooms down, they hear the clattering of equipment and a sudden growl. The doctor stands unphased, but his assistant - student, rather - jumps a little, clutching her pen and notepad. She must be new.
"Let's take these off now, shall we?" With the nervous student's help, the doctor steps forward, unwrapping the bindings around Goro's arms. The name tag attached to his scrubs reads Tanimura.
His arms and chest free, Goro stretches, feeling his joints pop. Outside, the street far below is beginning to come to life, golden rays cutting past the skyline and filtering down to the cyclists and pedestrians. It's not as crowded as he would expect, though. Is he in Tokyo?
Tanimura steps around the bed, swiping a card to log into a computer next to Goro's monitor. The student (Itsuki, he reads) follows to peer over his shoulder. "Your vitals are looking good," he says. He types something in, submits it, types something longer, submits it again, and continues typing. "Tell me, Akechi-san. What is the last thing you remember?"
The last thing he-
Wait.
When-
He clears his throat. "Wh-"
The sound of his own voice stops him short.
It's deeper. Much deeper than he remembers, which, the last thing he remembers is-
Akasaka Mitsuke. The TV station, studio 4. He's 17 years old. dressed in his school uniform, brushing his hair in the dressing room mirror, practicing his high school detective smile for the camera. He has an interview tomorrow. His school books and case work sit next to him inside his briefcase. Concealed under them, his pistol. Ichiryusai Madarame had fallen to his knees a week earlier, sobbing out his crimes. The Phantom Thieves had access to the Metaverse and he intended to find out why.
Shido is still alive.
"Who is the prime minister?"
There's gravel in his voice now.
It sounds like him.
Itsuki answers this time instead, braver now that Goro isn't actively fighting them.
"Yoshida Toranosuke." Good. Good, that's- he's not in power.
"What happened to Masayoshi Shido?"
As Itsuki tilts her head and asks "Who?" Goro sees Tanimura press his lips together, his expression growing pensive.
"Hm. I see."
When he doesn't immediately answer, Goro's hackles raise. His scent flares in apprehension - and that, too, somehow, has changed, almost shocking him into lowering his guard. His boyish, caramel scent, praised by interviewers and fans alike and to which he was almost noseblind, is now closer to umeshu; rich, sweet, and dark.
That realization is paired with the sensation of tingling along his jawline; when he raises a hand to feel along his lower cheek, his fingers meet the raised bumps of a five-o-clock shadow.
Adult alpha.
Blueberry suffuses the room again. Tanimura exhibits a sage calm, closing out of his task and drawing the chair closer to the bedside. Itsuki seems to have realized something. She leans against the sink at Goro's right, fiddling with her pen.
"Masayoshi Shido is serving a life sentence in prison," Tanimura says. He sits down heavily, as if steeling himself.
"Akechi-san… the year is 20XX. You were found outside the Diet building eight years ago, unresponsive and bleeding out from a wound on your chest. After a few months of treatment, you were awake, and moved to a rehabilitation facility for physical therapy and mental recovery.
"But, you disappeared again. We have no record of you until last December, when you were found in Mito with another gunshot wound, this time to your lower back, and brought here." Tanimura smiles, a bit weary. "Barely missed your spinal cord, which was lucky. It may be painful, but you'll be able to walk."
Eight years.
Shido's in prison.
Not dead.
Eight years.
A near tenth of his lifespan, erased from his memory. He has some recall but they're mere flashes of scent, light - not nearly enough to be concrete. Feeling dizzy, he looks down at his hands. They're worn, more muscular. New scars he's never seen before.
"Would you like some time to yourself, Akechi-san?"
Tanimura nods at Itsuki after she speaks. He rises from his chair, repositioning it against the wall, and Itsuki opens a drawer, taking out a tray of items and setting it on the small table. "These were your belongings at the time they found you."
A wallet. Cell phone. Both unfamiliar to him. Pack of cigarettes, a lighter. Guess he turned into a smoker. A blood-red handkerchief, embroidered with a small cat in the corner, with a somehow familiar scent.
A wedding ring.
What?
Itsuki gently closes the door as the two of them step outside his room, drawing the curtain closed. Goro's grateful that nobody can see his hand shake as he reaches out to his bedside for the ring.
Something on his shoulder stretches, like a healed scar, and he stops mid-movement. He reaches up with his other arm, grateful for the IV tube slack, and slips his fingers underneath the collar of his gown. There's a circle of old indentations right above his collarbone. Goro's heart stops.
He's mated.
To who? When did this happen? Was it consensual? How did we-
Okay. Calm down. Shido's in prison. It's been eight years. There's nobody chasing me. Nobody who could do this to me. Maybe. Think. Think.
His curious mind gets the better of him, preventing him from freaking out. If he is truly both mated and married, then he must have felt safe enough to do so sometime during the last eight years. If that's the case, there's someone who cares for him. Someone who might help him remember.
Love, the knowledge of being loved - these are not entirely foreign to him. He remembers how much he loved his mother, and how much she cared for him so deeply that in the end, it ruined her life. The smell of plum wine blooms again, tinged with sorrow; this time, it smells like her.
Goro changes plans and reaches for the phone instead. He nearly drops it in his urgency but manages to grab it and press the power button. Miraculously, it boots up to half battery. One of the nurses must have charged it for him. The lockscreen is a picture of a sunrise over a small garden. He types in his old password; somehow, it still works. He should probably change that.
Unlike his last phone, which was filled with pictures of food, selfies, screenshots, and other things he'd post to social media, this one is almost empty. There are a few pictures, like the sunrise, and some locations saved on his map. He's in Ibaraki near the coast, which explains the lack of a morning rush.
Most of his old life online seems to be gone- in fact, there's barely any mention of the Detective Prince at all. His new Twitter account looks like a burner, following accounts of local politicians and activist groups. The Metaverse app is gone.
Robin Hood and Loki still both thrum inside his heart, when he closes his eyes and searches within himself, the same way he used to desperately ask for help standing outside Shido's office. They've a new name, now as one being - Hereward. Hm. Perhaps that explains his lack of total bloodlust or single-minded righteousness.
When he opens his messages, there are several names he doesn't recognize. Some of them are from messages received years ago, data imported but never replied. Eight years ago, it looks like he was in a few different group chats - but before he can look at them clearly, his phone starts buzzing.
New message.
It doesn't stop. The phone vibrates out of his hand and falls into his lap, notification after notification coming in, what seems like several dozen of them before it finally stops and Goro can pick it back up.
They're all from one contact.
Kurusu Akira.
Goro opens the chat window.
There are what seems like thousands of messages, starting from March 20XX, seven years ago.
"Akechi, where did you go?"
"I miss you."
"Akechi, please. Please answer."
"Wherever you are, I hope you're happy."
Every message seems to be similar. Whoever he was these past eight years, he must have meant something to Kurusu. Enough for them to text him multiple times a week, or sometimes even in a day. There are even a few from two days ago.
It looks like he never replied, though. Was Goro trying to protect this person? Tanimura did say he was shot- maybe it wasn't Shido's men, but his associates could still be pursuing Goro. In that case, he might be better off not replying- but then that leaves him in a position of continued helplessness; he still doesn't know where he lives now, or how to get there. Does he have a job? Does he have any pets? Unlikely, but eight years ago he had wanted a cat between the whole trying-to-kill-Shido thing. Maybe he had adopted one in the interim.
Based on his observations, this Kurusu doesn't seem like they would sell him out to Shido's men or whoever otherwise shot him. Goro decides to hedge his bets.
He clicks on the message box. Pastes his location in the field. Presses send. Stares at it for three minutes.
There's no response.
He exhales. Spent, he places the phone back on the tray, eyes lingering on the wedding ring. That's an interesting quandry he'll have to figure out later, but as the nurse slides the curtain open, bringing each room breakfast on her morning rounds, he figures he's tired of running for now.
It's close to twilight when Itsuki returns, sans Tanimura. Goro wakes up, having fallen asleep shortly after his meal, and he sits up as she closes the door.
"There's someone here to see you," she says. Her pen and notebook are gone, replaced by a sheaf of papers and a glass of water which she sets down at his side. She's wearing bright pink scrubs to match her cotton candy scent, patterned with cartoon bears. Perhaps she just returned from pediatrics. "Kurusu Akira. Is he a friend or a relative of yours?"
Friend or relative. His eyes dart to the wedding ring. He thinks about the scars on his shoulder and the handkerchief. The answer tumbles out of his mouth before he can catch it.
"Mate."
And while Itsuki merely nods and disappears to presumably let Kurusu - Akira - come upstairs and into the building, Goro's mind races, piecing things together.
Knowing him, he'd naturally push away those closest to him in order to protect them - he did the same to many of his school friends before he began his mission to take down Shido. He'd keep tabs on them, hold on to keepsakes from them, but never could go back. Doing that to one person, and one person only, means that Akira must have been so important to Goro that he couldn't bear the thought of any harm coming to him by proxy.
The fresh, earthy scent of pine firewood in a hearth fills the entrance to his room.
Goro, entirely against his will, begins to croon, deep and low in his throat.
Haltingly, the man in the doorway begins to purr in response.
Akira.
His mate is tall. Around the same height as Goro, a handsome omega with curly black hair, sharp features, and startlingly grey eyes which fill with tears and spill over as he walks over to kneel by Goro's bedside. There's a ring on his left hand which matches the one lying next to Goro's wallet. He feels the uncontrollable urge to tuck the man's head under his chin and scent him, odd when he still feels like a stranger.
"Goro," Akira whispers. He decides he likes the sound of his name coming from Akira's mouth. Akira takes his hand gently.
Their mating bond spikes at the contact, sending a shiver down his spine that Akira seems to feel as well, his pupils dilating for a moment. "Goro, is this real? Did you come back?"
"Well, I suppose I have." Goro tries not to be insensitive. Then again, how do you deal with your mate crying in front of you when you've never had a mate before and don't know who he is? He searches for a mask, finds only Hereward, and goes with his usual: honesty. "Though back from where, I do not recall."
"What?" Akira peers up at him, his eyebrows knitting together. "What do you mean?"
"Please." Goro gestures to the chair under the window. "Sit down. It surely can't be comfortable kneeling on a tile floor."
"O-oh, sure, I guess you're right." Wiping his tears, Akira drags the chair over. Even at the momentary loss of contact, Goro feels bereft of him. He takes Akira's hand again once the other man is seated, instantly feeling more grounded.
"Before waking up this morning, I remember walking into the TV station at Akasaka Mitsuke. The year was…20XX. Eight years ago, according to the doctors." He smiles, wan. "I don't believe we had met at that point. You may remember my Detective Prince persona?"
Akira gapes at him for a moment.
"That was…" All of a sudden, he bursts out laughing. "Goro, that was the day we met!"
Akira has a lovely, hearty, loud laugh. Goro can't help but join in at the absurdity. What were the odds? "We met, like, that afternoon," Akira wheezes. "I was with Ann, and Ryuji, and Mona, and - oh, well, I guess you don't remember them either, huh?"
"Unfortunately, I don't," he chuckles. Slowly, their laughter peters off into a warm silence. Their scents have mingled, filling the small room with the smell of a cozy winter evening. It feels like everything Goro ever wanted.
Akira's eyes widen. "Oh, man, I guess you don't remember any of the other stuff then, like how you joined the Phantom Thieves, and we took down Shido, and Maruki, and saved the world a couple times-"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, hold on." Goro points at Akira with his free hand, then to himself. "We?"
"Right. Yeah, uhh, god, it's weird to have this discussion again." Akira scratches the back of his head. "I'm… the leader of the Phantom Thieves."
"And… I joined you, we took down Shido, and that's why he's serving a life sentence in prison?"
"Long story."
"…Alright." Goro sits with that for a moment. Incredible, and frustrating, to know that his path was made easier by joining forces with others, something he long rejected in his youth. Goro wonders if this is the effect of having a fully developed frontal lobe.
Akira sniffs. Goro lifts his hand, wiping away fresh tears. "Are you alright?"
He nods. "It's just-" He hiccups. "In Shido's Palace, in the Metaverse, where their hearts can be changed or shut down?" Goro nods for him to go on. "I- we watched you die. His cognition of you, shot you. There was nothing I could do but watch."
"Ah." So that's what he meant by 'came back'.
"Well, as you can clearly see, I'm still alive, so he didn't do a great job."
Akira chuckles wetly. "Yeah, I guess so."
"And," Goro cuts in, "I hope you know I don't plan on letting you go again."
To the past version of him, this sort of connection would be untenable, unthinkable. Any sort of relationship would be seen as a weak link, a way to get in. But even the ten minutes Goro has spent with this man - his rival, by all accounts - has rooted so firmly in his heart the utter need to stay by his side that Goro can't possibly imagine being without him.
He smells like home. Goro wants to know everything about him, about them, about all the things they have done together, wants to build a life with him. He can't help reaching out, tangling his hand in the front of Akira's shirt.
"Forgive me," is all he says, before pulling the other man towards him. Akira, for his part, goes willingly, tilting his head as he meets Goro in a kiss.
It's tender, gentle. A little salty, thanks to Akira's tears, and Goro licks them off his lower lip before biting. Surprised, Akira gasps, and Goro tastes coffee, caramel candy, and even more of that delicious pine scent. He groans, pleasure rippling up the back of his neck. Akira mirrors him, placing a hand on the bed to get a better angle.
By the time he releases Akira, having drank his fill of his mate, both of them are panting. One of Akira's lenses is fogged up. Goro preens.
He takes the wedding ring off the bedside table and slips it on. It fits right into a divot on his left ring finger that he hadn't even noticed was there; he must wear this all the time. How strange, to feel a love so unfamiliar and yet so known to his body.
Akira holds out his hand, and Goro intertwines their fingers together. He braces himself for words he thought he'd never say.
"Will you help me? I want to remember everything. All of it."
His mate smiles, bright and loving.
"Of course."