Chapter Text
For all intensive purposes, Goro Akechi is dead.
Legally, he was declared dead a year ago. After being found unresponsive in his apartment bedroom, his cause of death was diagnosed as a tragic, late-night brain aneurysm. He was buried at the age of eighteen, on the cusp of greatness, and his short stint as a prince detective faded quickly into obscurity.
In reality, Goro Akechi is very much alive. Though, to the extent he is living varies day to day.
It’s nearing noon when Goro checks out of the Seaside Clamshell. A “love hotel” hadn’t been his first choice for a place to spend the night, but the streets were busy in Tatsumi Port Island that day. Goro had weighed the humility against his possible discovery and decided his pride could bear further beating.
He slips the hostess a kind tender of bills to make up for the haste in which he leaves. Then, he slips into the steady stream of midday traffic, tugging the brim of his ratty baseball cap low. A weak elastic band fights to keep his hair tied back, and a permanent stench clings to his worn clothing. The days of crisp suits and silk ties are long behind him; as are the weeks Goro had the privilege to shower at his leisure.
His wallet is so light, Goro has to pat his hip just to ensure it’s still there. He adjusts the strap of the duffel bag digging into his shoulder. Somewhere, buried under a torn blanket and scraps from the trash is a cell phone. The battery died months ago, but even if he felt confident enough to shoplift a charger, he wouldn’t dare turn it on.
Then again, he won’t really need a phone where he’s going. Or anything. Soon, Goro will swap this life and its concerns for a far more certain future.
The line for boarding passes is frustratingly long. Half a dozen times, the people around Goro seem to close in on him. He all but has to hold his breath to keep from skittering away. He hates who he’s become; nothing but a feral streetcat, in desperate need of a bath. He used to be respected, feared, the phantom parents would tell their children about to get them to behave. That was until a separate group of phantoms took all that away from him. They saved him, in their eyes; they really just left him to rot.
No, that’s not fair to them. How were any of the thieves--save Kurusu--supposed to know what saving him from Maruki really meant? And how was Goro supposed to know that a second death was just the prelude to another miraculous resurrection?
After a long wait, Goro finally gets his ticket. He boards quickly and secures himself a window seat in the corner of his car. He feigns a nap, assuming that the people boarding after him will have the decency not to wake a sleeping passenger.
“Hey, uh, sorry there. The car’s getting full. Mind if I-?”
Evidently not. A loud voice rouses Goro from his ‘slumber.’ He glares up at a taller man wearing a nicer looking cap than his and an oblivious smile.
“Oh shit.” A man drops his voice to a whisper “Sorry! Go back to sleep.”
Goro groans, curling in on himself further. He wills the man to go away, who doesn’t, plopping himself down with an obnoxious huff. There’s an even more obnoxious amount of rustling as the man tears through his bag, his zipper getting stuck and making even more of a ruckus.
The train crawls to a slow start, and the realization that the man isn’t going to stop messing with his bag finally hits Goro. In a moment of exasperation, Goro sits up, grabs the man’s bag, and rips the zipper open himself.
He shoves the ill-made bag into the stupid lap of the stupid man. If Goro weren’t so furious, he’d come up with a better adjective to use. The man, with his dumb goatee on his slacked jaw, stares at him wide-eyed.
Goro crosses his arms and turns the other way.
“Uh...thanks-”
“Shut up,” is all Goro mutters before willing himself to actually fall asleep.
The general public has all but lost interest in the Phantom Thieves, along with the convoluted, oftentimes confusing laws of cognitive pscience. Despite all the lives that were uprooted and lost, the two turned out to be nothing but fads. Society has since moved on to newer controversies, ones that Goro hasn’t bothered keeping up with; he’s been much more focused on making sure he stays ‘dead.’
He’s taken on a new name, not to mention a new life. If it can be considered a life at all. Drifting from one town to the next. Keeping track of his limited funds. Making sure not to stay in one place for too long lest he be noticed. School is out of the picture, but it’s not as if he could have kept using his old school records; that would defeat the purpose of living in hiding.
For a time, Goro would have liked to believe he was managing. He’s used to the displacement, having spent most of his life in foster care. As for taking care of himself, that’s all he’s ever known.
Now, he’s on what may be his last train ride. Back to a city he can only call home for how long he lived there. No longer managing, but having realized he never was in the first place.
“-yeah, seems weird they just, like, stopped happening. Kinda like with the Apathy Syndrome stuff. Wink.”
Goro has only been awake for five seconds and Goatee is already pissing him off. He sits up, making it apparent he’s awake, and takes pleasure in the blood that drains from the man’s face.
“Hey, uh, gotta go babe. He’s-yep. I love you. Be back soon.” Goatee hangs up his phone, then proceeds to blow a kiss at the calls list. Lord.
Goro adjusts his cap and licks the sleep of his teeth.
“We’re about thirty minutes out from Shibuya,” Goatee informs him.
Great. Conversation. Goro rolls his eyes under the safety of his brim.
“Whatcha heading there for? Got family you’re meeting up with? Friends?”
The prodding won’t end unless Goro offers a response. “No.”
Goatee frowns. “Sooooo...just sight seeing?”
Great, Goro’s assumption was wrong. He faces the window and grits his teeth hard.
Finally, a silence falls between them, Goatee taking the hint. The sun has begun its descent below the brightly-lit horizon of Tokyo, and with it the approaching end of Goro’s freedom.
He’s honestly going through with this. The idea had toyed with him for so long it hardly feels real. Goro doubts that after the deed is done it even will. There should be fear somewhere within him. A sense of urgency, the instinct to flee or flight.
Instead he feels...nothing. Is this how it’s supposed to feel, to willingly walk to the gallows?
A voice in his head, that sounds far too close to Kurusu, tells him no.
“Okay kid. I’m just gonna ask...you got anywhere to go?”
Again with this moron. Goro whips around to face Goatee, catching him off guard. “Do you truly lack the self-awareness to realize when someone doesn’t want to talk with you?”
Goatee scoffs. “Asshole. I was gonna ask if you need a meal or something! You’re clearly homeless! And what, like, ten?”
Twenty, Goro wants to say, but he isn’t entirely sure if that’s true. It’s somewhere around there, but he hasn’t bothered keeping track of dates lately. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.”
“Okay, but like, do you have a plan once you get to the city? Enough money to last you a while-?”
“Please,” Goro hisses, a trickle of fear finally setting in. Not for arriving in Shibuya, but for being found out. “Leave me alone.”
Goatee stares at him, long and hard. Then, he blinks. “Hey, do I...know you from somewhere?”
There’s nowhere to go. Goro is trapped in a crowded train car, heading for one of the most crowded cities in the world. This man will turn him in, and he’ll be sent to prison before Goro has the chance to do what he came for.
“You don’t.”
Goatee blinks again. “Oh, okay.”
Or maybe he’s not as trapped as he thought he was.
True to Goatee’s word, their train slows to a stop thirty minutes later. The rush begins for every passenger to grab their stuff and go. Goro holds his duffel close to him, leg bobbing as he waits for the aisleway to clear.
Goatee takes his sweet time gathering his stuff, checking his phone before stretching his arms with a dramatic yawn. He eases out of his seat at a leisurely pace, then stands stupidly beside it.
A minute passes. He’s blocking the way.
Goro clears his throat.
Goatee scratches his chin.
Unbelievable.
“A-hem.”
Goatee’s apologetic smile is as convincing as Sakamoto’s attempts to keep his phantom thief identity a secret. “Oh, sorry kid. You ready to go?”
A reply, no matter how long, would give him way too much satisfaction. Goro knows this, which is why he rushes past the man once he’s cleared the way.
In Goro’s haste, he failed to account for what the man’s true intentions were from the start. He’s far too angry and flustered to stop Goatee from snatching his duffel bag from his arms. Goro whips around, seeing red, but the man already has his bag tucked safely under his arm.
There’s too many people around to cause a scene. Goro is trapped.
Goatee smirks. “C’mon. My friend I’m visiting loves ramen. I’ll have him meet us at a place I know of.”