Archive of Our Own

"-and make sure that no matter how much of a fuss he makes, you never give him tuna after nine o'clock. It gives him nightmares."  

After several minutes of uncharacteristic verbosity, Ren finally seems to run out of steam. He waits patiently for Futaba to acknowledge his instructions. "That all?" she eventually says.  

"That's all," he confirms with a serious nod. "Are you sure you don't need me to write it down?"  

Futaba laughs. "He's a talking cat, dude! As if he's going to let me forget anything!"  

Morgana plods down the stairs from the attic moments later, as though summoned by their conversation. He makes his way across the otherwise empty cafe and hops onto the counter, artfully sidestepping a steaming cup of coffee before launching himself onto Futaba's lap. "Talking about me?" he says, presenting his head for scratches.  

Futaba complies and tickles the sweet spot under his chin. He in turn melts into a contentedly rumbling puddle, only moving to occasionally knead at the fabric of her sweatpants. "This idiot seems to think I don't remember how to look after you," Futaba says.  

"Don't mind him," Morgana mumbles between purrs. "He's been going through a neurotic phase. Lately he takes me to the vet every time I sneeze."  

Ren does not protest this accusation. Instead he busies himself in taking a slow sip of his coffee. It's still hot enough to lightly scorch his throat on the way down, but nonetheless the familiar flavour relaxes him. Since moving out of the attic, Leblanc coffee has become an occasional treat for him rather than a daily indulgence, and the rarity only serves to make it more enjoyable, each swallow a reunion with cherished domestic memories.  

By the time Sojiro returns from the grocery store, Ren has drained one cup and is preparing a second. Morgana stirs from light slumber at the sound of the opening door. He rises with a yawn and a stretch, after which he bounds over to meet Sojiro as he comes in. "What's up, chief! Long time no see," he chirps, winding his way between the man's legs.  

"Look who's here," says Sojiro fondly. He greets the cat with a series of firm pats before turning his attention to Ren. The sight of him working behind the counter - once a sight as routine and familiar as breathing - catches him off guard. "Hey, kid," he says, blinking away the mist that threatens to creep over his eyes.  

"Hi," says Ren. He notices the heavy plastic bags hanging off Sojiro's arms and rushes over to relieve him of them. Before Sojiro can protest he's already unpacking, muscle memory assisting him in swiftly delivering each ingredient to its correct place.  

The silent resolve with which Ren darts around the kitchen could be written off as a side effect of his diminished caffeine tolerance, but Sojiro suspects there's more to it than that. He waits until the kid has exhausted himself before asking, "What brings you here today? Wasn't expecting to see you until Sunday." 

Ren opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a wobbly breath. Sojiro takes that opportunity to look him over. Five long years have passed since Ren first turned up on his doorstep and he's come a long way since then, but traces of the laconic, jittery boy he used to be still linger beneath the surface, waiting to flare up in times of strife and ruthlessly eradicate all of that progress. Sojiro finds these traces now in the restlessness of his hands and the unnatural pattern of his blinks. 

Ren, feeling Sojiro's eyes on him, conceals his hands in his pockets. He shoots a helpless look at Futaba who understands immediately. "Mona is staying with us this weekend," she says, speaking on his behalf.  

"I see," says Sojiro, unsatisfied with that explanation. He can't help but be charmed by the secret silent language his kids have developed over the years, but hell if it doesn't make him feel out of the loop. 

"I hope that's okay," Ren forces out.  

"Of course it's okay, but is something wrong?" Sojiro pauses. He considers his next words carefully, not wanting to spook Ren into a more prolonged silence. "It's not… You're not having problems with the detective, are you?" 

"Dad," Futaba groans.  

"What? I'm just asking!"  

As clumsy as Sojiro's attempt to inquire into Ren's love life might be, it seems to inadvertently lighten the mood. "No," Ren laughs softly. "Things with Goro are great." 

"Oh. That's a relief."  

Truthfully, Sojiro doesn't know whether to be relieved or not. It's not that he's against Ren's relationship with Goro Akechi (he's wary of it, sure; who wouldn't be after everything the guy put Ren through?) but he misses the days when Ren was a permanent fixture of the cafe rather than a sporadic guest. He guiltily realises that part of him would relish in Ren's heartbreak if it meant having both his kids at home again. Naturally, he opts to keep this thought to himself.  

"I'm going away for a couple of days," Ren eventually supplies.  

"Away where?" Sojiro asks. 

"Home."  

"Home?" Sojiro's already wrinkled brow doubles in creases. "Home as in…?" 

Ren nods. His hands have emerged from his pockets and he's picking absently at the skin around his fingernails.  

Sojiro tries to conceal his incredulity, but falters. "Why in the hell would you do that?" The sharpness of his tone is unintentional, but intention does nothing to soften the impact. Ren flinches so suddenly that he almost knocks over the bubbling coffee siphon. A second reservoir of guilt bursts open, flooding Sojiro's chest.  

"Sorry," Ren blurts before Sojiro himself can apologise. "Sorry, it's not you. I just…"  

Futaba is about to intervene again when she's cut off by a demanding meow. Morgana has made his way behind the counter to paw at Ren's ankles, and he doesn't relent until Ren bends down to pick him up. The soft vibration of his purr against Ren's chest provides instant relief, helping him find his way back to his words. "My mother called," he says, running his thumb over the velvety fur on Morgana's ear. "She and my father are moving house soon, and apparently they found a box of stuff belonging to me."  

"So?" says Sojiro. "Can't they just mail it to you?" 

Ren shrugs. "That's what I said, but she's… Well, you know what she's like. 'Come get it before it ends up in the trash' was the gist of the conversation."  

Sojiro's mind flashes back to the year of Ren's probation, to countless one-sided exchanges with Ren's parents who dismissed his every concern about their son's health and happiness, always assuming the worst of his intentions. His mother always said the same thing before hanging up the phone: If it's more money you're after, Mr Sakura, you aren't going to get it from me. "Alright," he says. "Then let me drive you. We can be there and back in, say, five hours? We can even get it over with today, if you want. Not like the cafe is likely to be bustling anyway."  

"I really appreciate that, but I promised Goro we'd make a weekend of it. He's already booked an Airbnb, I think." 

Sojiro raises an eyebrow. He can't blame the detective kid for being curious about Ren's elusive past, but trudging through the origin point of so many unpleasant memories hardly seems like the best excuse for a holiday. Futaba interrupts him before he can express any of these reservations. "Ooh, romantic getaway," she teases, reaching across the counter to pinch Ren's cheek. "How cuuuuuuuuute!"  

Ren arrives home to an eerily quiet apartment. Almost a year has passed since he and Goro moved in together, and - despite the innumerable reservations Ren's friends and family had not hesitated to express - things have been good. Not idyllic, certainly, but good. The only frequently recurring issue is their inability to fully trust that goodness, both of them constantly anticipating the day their contentment comes to an end.  

The hair on the back of Ren's neck prickles as he eyes the back of the door. The hook where Goro's favourite coat usually hangs is conspicuously empty. "Goro," he calls, glancing around for any trace of him. He can see most of their small, open-plan apartment without having to move; only the bedroom and bathroom are out of sight. "Are you home, honey?" 

The long silence allows Ren ample time to imagine the worst, but it's all forgotten when he finally receives a reply. "In here." 

Ren follows the muffled voice to the bedroom. He expects to find Goro under the covers, nose crinkled in irritation at having been roused from an afternoon nap, but instead he finds him hovering at the foot of the bed. He's holding one of his sweater vests to the light, seemingly examining it for imperfections. The oak doors of their shared wardrobe are flung open and most of the hangers inside are bare, their former contents strewn all over the floor.  

"What are you doing?" asks Ren, a little apprehensive.  

Goro, seemingly finding an issue with the sweater vest, tosses it to one side. "What does it look like?" he retorts. 

"It looks like you're planning on going on the run," Ren says. "Sick of me already?" 

Goro rolls his eyes. He indicates the suitcase that lies open on the end of the bed. "I'm packing for our trip." 

Ren peers at the contents of the suitcase. It's already full to bursting with a jumbled assortment of clothes - both Goro's and his own, which at least dismisses any lingering concerns about Goro running off on him. He cautiously leafs through the teetering stack of garments, finding six different dress shirts and at least ten pairs of socks. "Are you expecting us to get snowed in, or something?" 

Goro playfully smacks his hand away. "Why is it that every time you visit Sojiro you come home more facetious than you were when you left? Is it contagious?" 

"I'm not being facetious. We're going away for two nights. I was only going to bring a rucksack." 

"Of course you were." Goro shakes his head in exasperation. He picks up a pair of black trousers - Ren's this time - and subjects them to the same inspection as the sweater vest. The trousers seem to be more successful. He folds them into a neat square before placing them in the suitcase. "And what were you planning to put in there? Let me guess: two t-shirts and a pair of jeans?" 

"Just one t-shirt actually. The other one I'll wear on the way there."  

"Hopeless."  

Ren laughs airily. He nimbly steps over the discarded items on the floor until he's close enough to wrap his arms around Goro's waist. Goro makes a brief protest, mumbling about Ren's feline addiction to getting in the way, but eventually he melts into the embrace, bowing his head to meet Ren for a soft, lingering kiss.  

"I know I'm overdoing it," Goro mutters when they pull apart, "but I just want the people in your hometown to realise with one look how much better than them you are."  

"To be honest, I'm counting on nobody even noticing I'm there," says Ren. There is an edge of sadness to his tone, imperceptible to most but obvious to Goro. This is a matter of dispute they come up against often: Goro's compulsion to impress clashing with Ren's desire to disappear. "With any luck no one even remembers me."  

Goro runs his fingers through Ren's hair, hoping to soothe him. He gently pulls one of the curls taut before releasing it, watching how effortlessly it springs back into shape. Ren is similarly resilient; a mere few moments of gratuitous petting is enough to get him smiling again. "Not possible," Goro says. "How could they forget the most gorgeous man to ever live there?" 

Ren giggles, a soft flush climbing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He raises his hand to gently shove Goro away, but his languor gives Goro an opening to retaliate. He grabs Ren's wrist in midair and pulls him even closer. Ren dodges his attempt to go in for another kiss, holding Goro at a distance that is at once painfully far and agonisingly close. The hot breath on Goro's lips is torturous.  

They are at an impasse for several minutes, but Goro eventually lets his impatience get the best of him. He dives for Ren again, a little overzealously, ultimately losing his bearings when his foot catches on a stray silk shirt. He skids backwards onto the bedroom floor, dragging Ren along with him.  

The discarded clothing makes for a mercifully cushioned impact. Only Ren's hair is injured by the fall, the overgrown fringe he'd pushed back falling thickly over his eyes. "If you wanted me on top of you," he says, sitting up and brushing the worst of the hair away, "all you had to do was ask."  

"Shut the hell up," says Goro, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back down.

"I still think we've got too much stuff with us," Ren huffs. Sweat slicks down the hair on his forehead. The sun thuds unpleasantly on his back. 

"So what," says Goro. He's standing about a foot away, one hand in the pocket of his bermuda shorts, the other clutching an ice-cold bottle of water. From this vantage point he gets an excellent view of the straining muscles in Ren's arms as he heaves the bulky suitcase into the trunk of the car. "It's not like we're getting on a plane." 

Ren shoots him a sideways look. He'd managed to convince Goro to remove a mere quarter of the clothing he'd packed, and that space had then been immediately reclaimed by his memory foam pillow. (I don't sleep well with ordinary pillows, Ren. You know that.) 

After some shuffling, Ren manages to slam the trunk closed. He walks around to the battered driver's side door with the keys dangling off his pointer finger. "You're driving?" asks Goro, hopping his way to the passenger side. 

"If you don't complain about my music," says Ren. 

Goro fixes him with a distractingly dazzling smile. "No promises."

Goro manages to restrain his complaints about Ren's music, but he doesn't extend the same courtesy to the other drivers on the road. Even as a passenger he can't resist succumbing to an occasional bout of road rage, rolling down his window to unleash expletives on anyone who attempts to overtake them. "Learn to drive, asshole!" 

Ren, by contrast, is a quiet and skilled driver. Months of navigating Mementos without a license had prepared him for any circumstance he might encounter on the road, so he'd went on to pass his test first try. His first real-world experience with driving had been in Sojiro's yellow Porsche; Sojiro in the passenger seat, helping him navigate the streets of Yongen-Jaya, Ren steering with more care and caution than he'd ever exercised in the metaverse. "Jeez, kid," Sojiro had remarked after watching Ren flawlessly execute a 3-point turn, "how're you so good at that?" 

Ren, shrugging, had given an answer that Sojiro could never hope to wrap his head around: "Once you've driven a cat, you can drive anything." 

Traffic in the city centre is murderously slow, but before long they're roaring down the express way. The Tokyo skyline gets smaller and smaller then disappears entirely, replaced by flowering hibiscus trees and sprawling rice paddies. 

Entranced by this unfamiliar landscape, Goro indulges in asking the dreaded question. "Are we there yet?" 

"Not even close," says Ren. 

"But you're from the countryside," says Goro, "and this is the countryside." 

A glance over to the passenger seat confirms what Ren already suspects. Goro is grinning mischievously, delighted by his own attempts to rile up his patient boyfriend. Ren reaches over to squeeze Goro's knee and Goro places his own hand on top, pinning Ren's fingers in place until he needs them to change gears.

Ren takes a sharp left down a gravel driveway on Goro's instruction. They've only been officially in his hometown for a handful of miles, but already he has felt tempted to roll up his window against the assault of familiar scents: decaying foliage, tangy fertilizer, petrichor. Thankfully Goro's choice of rental home sits on the opposite side of town to where Ren's parents live, so there is still a merciful stretch of road between him and the milieu of his childhood. 

That is not to say that this part of town is unfamiliar to him. Far from it. While one could live in Tokyo for a decade and never manage to see everything the city has to offer, this town could be walked in its entirety in less than two hours, an endeavour Ren had undertaken on countless restless afternoons. Every inch of the place is etched into his bones, impossible to forget. 

Goro, on the other hand, has never seen anything like this in his life. He's practically hanging out of the passenger side window, almost brushing his nose against the wisteria that dangles sleepily over the driveway. "I think this is it," he says, straining to see the property ahead of them. "That sign did say 1522, didn't it?" 

"Yeah," says Ren, tearing his eyes away from the windscreen to look at Goro. Then, the edge of a smile colouring his words: "You seem excited." 

"I am a little," Goro confesses. It's a testament to his high spirits that he admits this readily rather than scowling and slumping back into his seat. "Are you?" 

Ren shrugs with one shoulder, only answering verbally once he notices that Goro isn't looking his way. "I've been here before." 

"Not with me you haven't." 

They soon reach the end of the long driveway, parking under a hefty cypress tree before unbuckling their seatbelts. Once Ren reaches for the door handle, however, he halts suddenly. It dawns on him that this is his last chance to turn back; that the car door, one opened, can no longer protect him from the sights and smells of his past. He remembers the innumerable times he has promised himself never to come back here and feels the chill of self-betrayal ripple through his entire body. 

"Hey," says Goro. He doesn't ask Ren what's wrong - he knows all too well what a pointless exercise that is; evasiveness is a stubborn cornerstone of Ren's personality that no amount of prodding on Goro's part is going to shift. Instead, he tilts Ren towards him with a finger under his chin and firmly presses their mouths together. 

Ren lightens at the first taste of Goro's lips. He pulls away after a moment, imbued with the courage he needs to get out of the car.  

The path to the main house is formed of uneven paving stones, separated by tufts of moss. Ren keeps his eyes on his feet, hopping from stone to stone as a means of distracting himself from his nerves. Goro looks up at the house itself, marvelling at its steep thatched roof and the dark wooden beams that frame the door. "The actual Airbnb is a converted barn out back," he says, stepping towards the door, "but we have to collect the keys from here, I think." 

When Goro knocks the large cedarwood door, Ren hurries forward to join him. From behind the door comes the sound of footsteps, then a muffled cough, then a rattling of what Ren imagines to be keys. After a few more bangs and clatters the door slides open, revealing a man of late middle-age with thick frame glasses balancing on his narrow nose. It takes Ren only a second to recognise him, after which he takes an instinctive step backwards. 

The man has a similar reaction when his eyes land on Ren, ignoring Goro entirely to zero in on him, pupils darting up and down several times before finally settling on his face. "You're the Amamiya kid," he says eventually. What should be a neutral statement is made ugly by his accusatory tone. 

"Hello, Mr Inoue," Ren says sheepishly. 

Goro glances between the two of them, trying to put the pieces together. Ren is standing unnaturally straight and fidgeting with the drawstring of his cotton shorts. The way this 'Mr Inoue' is looking at him is not unfamiliar; it's the way everyone used to look at him before his criminal record got expunged. The people of Tokyo have long since moved on to other preoccupations, but the people here clearly have a more difficult time surrendering their biases. 

Mr Inoue pushes up his glasses and squints at Ren with greater intensity. "City life get too much for you, eh?" 

"No, sir," says Ren. "I'm just visiting." 

The emphasis Ren places on the word visiting seems to knock a dislodged bolt in Mr Inoue's head back into place. He attempts to shake away his hostility and replace it with a banal politeness. "Oh," he says. "Oh, are you-? The booking said Akechi." 

At this, Goro raises one hand and wriggles his fingertips sardonically. "I'm Akechi," he says. 

"I see." A dewy flush lays siege to Mr Inoue's cheeks and forehead. He clears his throat. "Th-There's only one bed in the guesthouse." 

"Yes," says Goro, dropping his raised hand and lacing those fingers with Ren's. "We're aware of that." 

Mr Inoue shuffles around in search of the keys then hurriedly shows them to the guesthouse. From the outside it still looks like an ordinary small barn, but the inside has been gutted out and rebuilt into an open plan living space, surprisingly hospitable and cosy considering the owner. Sunlight melts into the room from the sparse clerestory windows, highlighting the rich grains of the aged wood furniture. 

When Mr Inoue leads them into the bedroom, his discomfort is palatable. He runs through the rules and regulations of the place as fast as he can, and the particular emphasis he places on the prohibition of disorderly conduct makes Goro bristle. Once he has finally taken his leave, Goro turns to Ren and asks, "How on earth do you know that dreadful man?" 

Ren shakes his head. "You don't wanna know," he says. 

"Yes I do," Goro says. He might have let Ren away with his caginess back in the car, but on this point he has no plans to acquiesce. "Tell me." 

By degrees, Goro's pleading look wears Ren down. "He was the principal of my high school." He sighs softly. "Maybe still is, I dunno." 

One rigid hand flies to Goro's face, covering his mouth. "Oh my god. Please tell me you're fucking joking." 

"I wish I was." 

"Shit." Goro reaches for Ren but lingers in midair, as though unsure where to put his hands. He eventually draws back, carding roughly through his hair with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. "I'm the worst boyfriend in the world." 

"You are not. Don't say that." 

"I am though. Out of all the places we could have stayed here, I managed to pick the one owned by your old principal, a man who - correct me if I'm wrong - was presumably heavily involved in having you kicked out of school?" 

"You're not wrong, but..." Ren sets his hand on Goro's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "How could you have known that? And what difference does it make anyway? Now that we have the keys, we don't have to see him again until we check out." 

Ren's conciliatory words and gestures only seem to further entrench Goro in his guilt. He stares at the floor with his arms folded over his chest. "I just… This trip is already going to be so hard for you, and I've made it worse." 

"No you haven't. Come on. There were - what? Three Airbnb listings for this entire town? We were hardly spoilt for choice, honey." 

"There were four listings." 

"Okay, four listings. And the other three of them are probably also owned by people that know me and don't like me very much. Such is life as the pariah of a small town." 

Goro glances up briefly. He's blinking rapidly to quell the threat of tears, and his mouth is twisted by a childish pout. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.  

Ren is about to tell him he doesn't need to be sorry, but he realises that he has little chance of convincing him of that. "It's alright," he says instead. He reaches for one of Goro's hands, bringing it to his mouth and giving his knuckles a noisy smooch. "Let's go check out the kitchen. I'm starving."

The bed in the barn is surprisingly comfortable. Frumpy, wrinkled sheets conceal a plush mattress that neatly cushions the contours of their bodies. The pillows, too, are delightfully fluffy, though this does not dissuade Goro from using the one he brought from home. He curls up like a mollusc; one arm tucked underneath his head and the other to his chest. Before long he's drifted off, tuckered out by the long journey. 

Ren, on the other hand, is wide awake. He lies on his back, eyes open, listening to Goro's sleep-heavy breaths and the quivering trill of nightjars flying overhead. Usually the roles would be reversed, Ren lulled into immediate slumber by the weight of Morgana snoozing on his chest while Goro tosses and turns beside him, but tonight Ren is held captive by his dread. The sooner he sleeps the sooner he'll have to see his parents, and he'd rather delay that for as long as possible. 

For comfort he tries to imagine what Morgana might be doing now. Futaba is likely still awake, her chaotic bedroom bathed in blue light as she skilfully types commands into her computer, and Morgana has probably long given up on coaxing her into bed. Soon he might tire of waiting and sneak out of her room, slipping down the hall to find Sojiro and stretch out at his feet instead. This notion settles Ren somewhat, but every now and then his anxiety pokes holes in the vivid mental image, reminding him of how far away he is from them.

I don't care what they think. 

These words echo in Ren's head as he idles outside of his parents' house. It's his own voice, but it's distorted, as though he's separated from his thoughts by a thick pane of glass. 

I don't care what they think. I don't care. 

It's a phrase he defaults to anytime anyone asks him about his relationship with his parents. He's parroted it enough times to almost believe it himself. He returns to it now as a sort of affirmation, a bulwark against his increasing desire to dart off in the opposite direction and never come back. 

Goro stands a few paces away. He observes the house with a quiet curiosity. It's a fairy average country house; the only thing that distinguishes it from the Inoue residence is its proximity to the town centre and subsequent lack of fauna and flora. He struggles to imagine Ren having grown up in such a mundane place - in fact, he struggles to imagine Ren having grown up in any place, always believing instead that he had simply materialised one day on a train platform in Shibuya, fully formed, like the apparition of an ancient god. 

Shadowed by the looming porch roof, Ren seems neither ancient nor godlike. He fusses uneasily with his overgrown hair and smooths the collar of his button-down shirt. When he finally plucks up the nerve to press the doorbell, the mechanical chime rattles through his entire body. 

The ensuing silence stretches endlessly. Ren strains to hear any indication of life behind the door; his mother's brisk footsteps, his father's beery cough, the chug of water through pipes that he remembers as the near constant soundtrack of his childhood. Nothing. Not even a solitary creak of floorboards. He sighs and turns to Goro, planning to suggest giving up and coming back later. It is at this exact moment that the door snaps open, flinging out such a forceful blast of air that he almost stumbles into the bushes. 

Goro studies the woman that emerges. Black curls and polished steel eyes betray her as Ren's mother, but the facial resemblance between them is negligible, Ren being soft where she is harsh and sharp where she is rounded. The way her eyes narrow against the morning sun would suggest that she's been recently disturbed from sleep, but the tidiness of her makeup and lack of creases in her clothes implies otherwise. The first words out of her pinched mouth are, "What are you doing here?" 

"I came to get my stuff," says Ren. Although he has several inches of height on his mother, the step up into the house gives her the advantage. She stares down at him with a bemused expression. "You, uh, said you had some things belonging to me?" 

"Oh," his mother says. "I think your father might have taken it to landfill already. It's hard enough trying to sell this place without having all that crap lying around." 

A flash of humiliation cuts through Ren's chest. "…You only called a week ago. I said I would come get it." 

"I know, but we didn't think you really would. Driving all this way for some old school reports and a couple of t-shirts seems like a waste of time and money to me." Her words are fogged by the edge of a yawn. "Though I suppose that's no issue for you, so long as that pushover Sakura continues to fund your every whim." 

Guiltily, Ren thinks of how generous Sojiro has been throughout his transition to independence. No matter how many times he refuses help - financial or otherwise - a small stipend from Sojiro arrives faithfully in his bank account every month. Humour me kid, he'd said the first time Ren had tried to send it back. Think of it as back pay for all the pro bono shifts at the cafe. 

"He doesn't," Ren says, knowing that trying to explain any of this to his mother would be futile. "I have a job." 

"Huh. Well, either way, maybe you should've saved the gas money and spent it on a haircut instead." 

This comment forces Ren's eyes to the ground. He stares down at her pristine house slippers, one rubber sole slapping arrhythmically on the tiled entryway with every impatient tap of her foot. It's a jarringly familiar routine: his mother's ceaseless sniping, his penitent silence. He is not surprised that she has not changed, but he is surprised by his continued inability to stand up to her. He wills himself to say something, anything, but his voice catches on the sandpaper of his throat. 

"I suppose I can go check out back," his mother says eventually, sounding terribly put out, "but don't blame me if it's already gone." 

She struts off, leaving the door open. Ren knows better than to take it as an invitation to come in. Instead, he stares at the hallway, familiar in shape but foreign in decoration. His vision blurs as he fixates on a fleck of dirt that mars the otherwise perfectly whitewashed walls. He can feel Goro's eyes on his back, but he does not turn to meet them. 

Goro himself is having a very difficult time staying out of the way. He's close enough to hear every word that comes out of Ren's mother's mouth, yet far enough away to evade her notice. This had been the desired effect; Ren hadn't wanted to complicate matters by showing up out of the blue with a boyfriend, and Goro had agreed that his presence would likely be more of a hindrance than a help. Now, though, watching a vague tremor come over Ren's legs, he wrestles with an agonising impulse to run to his side. 

Eventually Ren's mother returns. To Ren's great surprise she's dragging a cardboard box along with her. She shoves it unceremoniously towards him and dusts her hands off on her skirt. "It's your lucky day," she says. 

"Thanks," says Ren awkwardly. The box, rigorously taped shut, leaves no doubt as to its contents. Thick, black ink noisily spells out his name in the lower left corner. 

The tapping of his mother's foot resumes. "Is that everything," she says, now addressing him with the same tone of voice he's heard her use at work, not unkind yet impersonal. 

Studying the jagged lettering on the package brings Ren's father to his mind; the untidy smear of his eyebrows, the harsh quality of his voice. "Is dad home?" 

"What do you want with him?" 

"Just to say hello." 

"No. He's not here." 

"Oh. Alright." Disappointment and relief blend uncomfortably in Ren's chest. It's not that his relationship with his father is any better than that with his mother - actually it might be worse - but nonetheless some instinctual part of Ren longs to see him, just as it had longed to see her. "I'll be around until tomorrow. Can you let him know?" 

His mother briskly nods her head, saying nothing. This is clearly his final dismissal. Defeated, he clumsily scoops the cardboard box into his arms. It's not especially heavy, but it's an awkward size, wobbling precariously on his outstretched arms and blocking his vision. 

Just as the thing is about to topple unceremoniously onto the ground, a third hand slips between Ren's to steady it. Unable to see over the top of the box, he initially assumes the hand to belong to his mother. It's not until another hand slides over his back that he realises the truth. Goro gently caresses him between the shoulder blades, hoping to subdue the trembling that has now overtaken his entire body. 

Ren's mother eyes these gestures with suspicion. "That's it," she mutters bitterly, her stare so intense that it could almost burn a hole right through the box. "Give the neighbours something else to talk about." 

The fingers of Goro's hand curl involuntarily. Ren feels the pressure of neatly clipped nails through his shirt. He worries about what Goro might be about to do or say and tries to pull him in the opposite direction, but Goro resists steadfastly. He straightens his back and plasters on a smile before delivering an icy yet courteous valediction: "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs Amamiya, but we really must be going." Turning to Ren, he adds, "Come along, sweetheart. Didn't you promise to show me the sights?" 

Ren's mother lets out an irritable scoff before brusquely zipping the door shut. Something in Ren's body seems to give as soon as she's out of sight, shoulders collapsing, gelatinous arms slipping out from under the box. Goro supports the extra weight and, now that the box has been lowered, studies Ren's face. Already the colour is returning to his cheeks, but he's still shaking intensely. "I'm sorry," Goro says, "I know you didn't want me to get involved, but I couldn't… I couldn't-" 

"Thank you," Ren says. He meets Goro's eye for a long moment before looking back down at the box. A small smile overrides his former grimace. "How in the hell are we gonna get this open?"

It takes the sharpest knife in the kitchen to get through the excessive layers of tape on the box. Even Ren, skilled with a blade though he is, struggles to cut through them cleanly. He ultimately resorts to the crudest technique: jamming the point of the knife repeatedly downwards to puncture the tape from above. 

Goro emerges from the bathroom, having overheard the commotion. He finds Ren sitting cross-legged on the chalky barn floor, one hand on the knife, the other steadying the box. Quick and precise movements are bookended by loud popping noises. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," Goro remarks. 

Ren does not answer. Tongue peeking out between his lips, he studies his last opponent: a dense crosshatch of tape in the centre of the box. He rakes the knife through it repeatedly until finally the box springs open. Setting the knife to one side, he begins rifling through the contents, forming a rudimentary system as he goes; one pile for papers, another for clothing, a third for everything else. Most items he sets aside without a second look, as though he is searching for something in particular. 

Goro leans down to pick up a stack of discarded documents. He runs his eye over the first page. Ren's name is penned neatly at the top, followed by the year - 2012. Underneath that is a run of near-perfect grades and a box containing a brief comment from Ren's homeroom teacher. "Ren is a pleasure to teach," Goro reads aloud, slowly pacing the length of the barn, "but he ought to participate more in class discussions." 

"I wouldn't bother reading the other ones," Ren says. He briefly studies an old band t-shirt before tossing it into the relevant pile. "They all say pretty much the same thing." 

"Really? You never did anything bad?" 

Ren shakes his head. "Well… Besides the obvious." 

Goro flips through the rest of the papers anyway and finds that Ren is not exaggerating. The phrase pleasure to teach appears numerous times, but every compliment is paired with a qualifying statement. Ren is hardworking, but too quiet. A bright boy, but solitary. Kind, but shy. 

Page by page the image in Goro's mind sharpens: Ren, ten years younger, scribbling industriously in an exercise book, paying no mind to the world around him. What a first-rate rival he would have made even then, his impeccable grades and immaculate attendance made all the more infuriating by his sweet temperament. 

"Oh," Ren suddenly exclaims. "There you are." 

Goro looks up to see Ren leaning over the box with a delighted gleam in his eyes. He sets the reports to one side and steps closer. "There who is?" 

Ren's hand emerges clutching something small and fluffy. Tufts of yellow and brown fibre jut out between the gaps in his fingers. He unfurls them to reveal a stuffed giraffe, fairly realistic aside from its size and the floppiness of its limbs. He runs a finger over the explosion of dark brown fur at the end of its ossicones, a faraway smile on his face. "I thought I'd lost him," he mutters. 

A puzzle piece slots into place. "That's why we came here, isn't it," says Goro. 

Ren hesitates briefly, then nods. "I couldn't find him when I was packing for Tokyo. I looked everywhere, tore my room apart, and nothing. I'd kind of given up hope of every seeing him again, but then my mother called, and I wondered…" 

The very mention of Ren's mother makes Goro's lip curl. Ren had been quiet on their way back to the barn - not his usual, steady kind of quiet, but the quiet of someone who has forgotten their own voice entirely. Even now he is not back to his usual self, though his reunion with the giraffe seems to have settled him. Again Goro finds himself picturing a much younger Ren; a small, wiry boy hiding under the covers, clutching his only ally by its long yellow neck. 

"I've been thinking," says Goro, suddenly furious, "and I don't think your mother really thought your father had thrown this stuff out. I think she said that just to upset you." 

Ren draws the giraffe to his chest. "Hm. Maybe." 

Goro realises - maybe a minute too late - that he isn't doing Ren any favours in allowing his anger to spill out. He swallows it and changes tracks. "Has he got a name?" He nods towards the giraffe. 

"Giraffey." 

All ill feeling is flushed out of Goro in an instant. A jeering little snort comes out of his nose before he can stop it. "Oh. Wow." 

"…What?" 

"It's just so…original. I never realised what an incomparable genius I've fallen into bed with." 

"Don't be mean." Ren moves his thumbs over the giraffe's protruding ears as if to plug them. "You're making Giraffey insecure." 

Goro puts his hand over his heart. "Goodness, that wasn't my intention. Tell him I'm sorry, will you?" 

"Tell him yourself," says Ren, patting the empty space beside him on the floor. 

Goro is less than impressed with the cleanliness of the barn floor, (he'll be sure to mention this in his Airbnb review, alongside a very harsh assessment of the host's attitude) but he can never deny Ren anything when he's looking up at him through those deliriously thick eyelashes. He makes his way over and settles next to Ren's criss-crossed legs, tucking his own underneath him. 

Ren shifts closer and puts head on Goro's shoulder. Goro lowers his own head to plant a few kisses in the dark jungle of Ren's hair. When he looks up again, he is startled by the glassy, slightly wonky stare of Giraffey. Ren is holding the toy aloft, a mere few inches from Goro's face. "Um, hello," says Goro. "Can I help you?" 

"He wants one too," says Ren, his voice sparkling with mischief. Goro raises an eyebrow. His hesitance only makes Ren more insistent; he puppets Giraffey's neck with the tip of his pointer finger and makes loud kissing noises. 

When Ren doesn't let up, Goro gives in. He quickly presses his lips to Giraffey's plush snout then pulls away just as fast, glancing around as though someone might be watching. "Ugh," he grunts, wiping a trace of fluff from his lips, "when did I let you turn me into such a sap?" 

Ren says nothing. He just smiles, a toothy and unrestrained smile that turns a light on in Goro's heart, persuading him that the brief humiliation was worth it.

By late afternoon, the rippling grey clouds have dissolved into a shimmer of rain. Ren and Goro don't let this discourage them from taking a walk - mostly because there's very little else to do. Arm in arm, crowded under a small umbrella, they wade through the dewy forest that encloses the dirt path to town. 

Ren keeps his eyes on the ground, scanning for erupting tree roots and jagged pieces of rock, while Goro, blissfully unaware of these potential obstacles, takes in the scenery. There seems to be a new object of fascination in every direction; tree frog symphonies bellowing in the branches overhead, delicate ferns tickling their ankles, raindrop-freckled flower petals twinkling in the dappled light. 

Eventually they emerge from the forest into something closer to civilisation. A narrow stretch of cobblestones cuts through the endless greenery, widening to accommodate a series of identically quaint buildings. Ren makes an exaggerated grand gesture with his arm. "Well," he says. "here's everything." 

"Everything," Goro echoes. He takes stock of the visible shop signs. On one side: greengrocer, butcher, laundrette. On the other side: pharmacy, agricultural supply store, bakery. A few people populate the otherwise quiet street, inspecting crates of fruit or peering at advertisements in the windows. 

"Pretty much, anyway. My school is about a mile down that street." Ren points towards the north-east. "And there's a mechanic not far from there, but other than that, yeah." 

"Huh." 

"I tried to tell you it was boring." 

"Boring is not the word I would use." 

"No? What word would you use then?" 

Before Goro can answer, the light shower suddenly whips into a deluge so torrential that their umbrella takes a battering. Squealing townspeople dash off in search of shelter, many of them heading for the awnings of the nearby shops. Ren follows their example and drags Goro by the hand to the door of the bakery. 

Red-cheeked, panting and dripping, Ren tries to wrestle the umbrella back into its original shape. "Shit," he mutters, unable to bend the ribs into place. 

Goro says nothing. He stares through the bakery window with rapt attention. Ren follows his gaze to the frosted display case within; every shelf is laden with new delights, from fresh bread rolls to shortcake topped with plump strawberries. 

"I used to work in there, you know," remarks Ren. 

That gets Goro's attention, but he continues ogling the desserts. "As a baker?" 

"Nah. I just worked the register. They tried to teach me to ice cakes, but I wasn't very good at it." 

"I don't believe that. You're good at everything." 

Ren laughs. He watches Goro closely, observing the entranced swell of his pupils and the tip of his tongue rolling over his bottom lip. "You wanna go in?" 

Goro's head turns so fast that his drenched hair casts little droplets of water into the air. He schools his expression and narrows his gaze as though giving the suggestion a great deal of thought. His eventual reply is diplomatic: "Well… If there's nowhere else to go…" 

Inside the bakery they get the first kind reception of their entire trip. The elderly owner seems delighted to see Ren; she reaches over the counter to pat him on the back and exclaim, "My best employee has returned!" Ren then fields question after question (Where are you living now? What do you do for work? Who is this handsome man you have with you?) while Goro selects several items from the pastry case. To this already substantial purchase they add two coffees, and they haul the lot over to one of two wicker tables next to the window. 

Goro spears a slice of souffle cheesecake and brings a piece to his lips. "Oh my god," he mumbles blissfully, mouth full. "I thought you said there wasn't anything worth doing in this town." 

"The desserts are good," Ren agrees. He lowers his voice to a whisper, aware of the owner hovering a few feet away. "But the coffee sucks." 

"I think it's alright." 

"Of course you do. Sugar tastes the same anywhere." 

"I didn't put that much sugar in it." Goro scowls. "Sojiro's made a snob out of you." 

Ren takes another sip of his own coffee, hoping to be proved wrong. He'd tried to give it a fighting chance by ordering it with milk, but even that did little to negate the blandness and the burnt aftertaste. "There was a time," he says after an unpleasant swallow, "when this was the best coffee I'd ever had." 

It takes Goro a moment to answer. He chews thoughtfully on a chunk of melon bread until it dissolves. "To think if you'd never been arrested that might still be the case." 

For a moment, Goro worries that he's crossed a line. Neither of them is a stranger to off-colour jokes, but the brief flash of surprise in Ren's eyes suggests that this may be the wrong time to make one. To Goro's great relief, however, that surprise quickly melts into wry amusement. "Silver linings," Ren says, carving out a scoop of cheesecake for himself.

Nightfall in the countryside is as sudden and all-consuming as a black tarp thrown over a birdcage. The absoluteness of it takes Goro by surprise; he hadn't realised how illusory his ideas of silence and darkness were, polluted always by the snarl of traffic and strobing neon lights. Here they have only the subdued glow of a crescent moon to find their way by, and the only constant sound is the drone of crickets in the long grass. 

The same darkness that bewilders Goro seems to renew Ren's confidence. He navigates by instinct, leading Goro across swollen marshes, down barren dirt roads, through tidy parcels of land populated by sleeping cattle. Desire lines shoot off in every direction like arteries, each one ferrying them to another shadowed landmark of Ren's childhood and early adolescence. He reduces them to unsentimental terms: "This is where I fell off my bike and broke my wrist." "That used to be my grandmother's house." "I used to come to this field every day after school." 

Goro lets every statement pass by unpressed until the last one. "To do what?" 

"Just to think." 

"What about?" 

Ren, who has been leaning languidly on the capping rail of a wooden fence, lifts his head. "Lots of things." He reaches clumsily for the vague outline of Goro's body, grabbing at the air until he finally manages to locate his hand. "Sometimes I daydreamed about bringing a cute boy here." 

Goro lets out an uncharacteristically saccharine giggle. "Oh, really?" 

"Mhm." 

A tug at his sleeve draws Goro closer. Every squelching step he takes sends geysers of muck up the leg of his trousers, but he tucks that gripe away for later. Right now he's more concerned with seeking out Ren's head in the dark and running the tips of his fingers over the downy hair on the back of his neck. "What did this imaginary boy look like?" 

"Hm…" Ren clicks his tongue as though struggling to remember. "Light brown hair - longish and kind of messy, which is odd because the rest of him was so put together." Goro huffs, half amused, half irritated. "His eyes were strange too. Almost red, like a vampire. We were about the same height-" 

Another sudden step forward on Goro's part backs Ren into the fence. Goro's hand coils from the back of his neck to the front, tracing the column of his throat. "Seeing as I'm taller than you," he interrupts, "I suppose your dream boy must be somebody else, hm?" 

"I said about the same height. Don't be so pedantic-" 

Again Ren is cut off. Not by words this time, but by a misfired kiss that lands just shy of its target. Goro, frenzied, tries again and again, mapping the entirety of Ren's face with his lips until he finally winds up in the right spot. "Stay still," he mutters, voice heavy as a drunkard’s. His grasp moves to Ren's jaw and tightens. 

Ren feels the beams of the fence press into the backs of his thighs. "It's not like you're giving me much choice." 

"I think you could find a way out." Goro can't resist goading; immobilising Ren isn't any fun when there's no struggle. "If you really wanted to." 

Ren rises to this challenge. He kicks at Goro's ankles until he stumbles back and uses that margin of error to wriggle free. The darkness does the rest. Neither of them can see particularly well, of course, but Ren has the advantage of familiarity with the land, a familiarity he exploits to skilfully evade Goro's disoriented attempts to swipe at him. 

This game continues for several minutes. Boredom is what ultimately forces them to relent. Not wanting this to go on all night, Ren steps quite purposefully on a fallen tree branch which, when it cracks, echoes through the field like the blow of a starting gun. 

The inevitable slam of body on body almost knocks Ren off his feet. Tender, open-mouthed kisses contrast savage hands; Goro tugs Ren's hair at the root, Ren claws at the tail of Goro's shirt. "Fuck," Goro rasps, shuddering as cold fingers graze the warm skin of his waist. 

Ren escalates his bold exploration, spurred on by the rhythmic tensing and releasing of the grip on his hair. Button by button he exposes Goro's torso to the temperate breeze, lapping hungrily at each newly revealed inch of skin. 

Goro's eyes flutter shut. More poorly stifled curses escape his lips. The vulnerability of his position is not lost on him, but he's not sure he cares. It's hard to care about anything but the feeling of that clever mouth on him, sucking bruises onto one spot and then the next, somehow anticipating his desires even when he does not voice them. A rustle of clothing followed by a slosh of wet earth suggests that Ren has settled onto his knees. Next he will blindly fumble with Goro's belt, and then- 

"Shit," Goro hisses, his eyes popping open again. "What the fuck was that?" 

Ren looks up. He can just about make out the frantic movements of Goro's head. "What?" 

"There was a sound." 

"What kind of sound? I didn't hear anything." 

"I don't know - a sound!" Goro grabs at his shirt, making a shoddy attempt to redo some of the buttons. "Like there's someone here." 

Ren makes his own visual inspection of their surroundings, though he already knows he won't see anything. "There's nobody here, honey." 

"How do you know that? I mean, somebody owns this field, don't they?" 

"…Yeah, I guess so." 

"So it might be a farmer coming to shoot us for trespassing on his land." 

"The farmers here don't have guns." Ren tries to conceal his amusement, but it's obvious in his voice. The scoff of irritation that comes from above indicates that it did not go unnoticed. "I promise that nobody is coming to shoot you," he adds, more seriously this time. "It was probably…a rabbit or something." 

"A rabbit," Goro says, a little petulantly. He looks around again. The blanket of night is as tranquil as ever. Whatever made the sound he heard - real or imagined - has not made a corporeal appearance. His heart continues to race, a feeling he is unsure whether to attribute to his panic or the feeling of Ren's hands still idling on his belt buckle. 

He drops his gaze. He can't see much besides the top of Ren's head, his hair gleaming as though starlit from within. He runs his hand through it again and Ren responds by pressing a kiss to the softest part of his belly. 

A sharp twinge of arousal spears his gut and eliminates the last of his hesitance. Maybe Ren is lying about the farmer's guns. Maybe he isn't. Either way, it wouldn't be the first time Goro has placed his life in Ren's hands, and Ren has proven time and time again how worthy he is of that trust. 

"Okay," says Goro, reaching down to assist Ren with the buckle. "Okay. Fuck it."

Mud dries to an inflexible crust on the dragging ends of Ren's trousers. The stiffness of it makes it difficult to keep pace with Goro. He, seized by a spell of euphoria, has raced on ahead, almost at a gallop. Occasionally he glances back to holler, "Come on, come on," at his straggling boyfriend. 

Ren cackles at the sight of him hopping a fence, elegant as a show pony. "Where on earth are you going?" 

Goro grins from the other side of the fence. The darkness obscures every feature of his face bar the bared teeth and the whites of his eyes. It's almost unsettling; a taunt from a nocturnal animal about to pounce. Ren accelerates his pursuit, shedding little splinters of hardened earth from his bent knees. 

After some fruitless meandering they wind up on the outskirts of the residential district. Goro makes a decisive turn at a fork in the road. "The barn is that way," Ren calls after him, indicating the opposite direction. 

Still striding ahead, Goro asks, "What time is it?" 

"I don't know; I didn't bring my phone." 

"Me neither." Goro pauses, giving Ren a chance to catch up. The gap between them now considerably reduced, he reaches for Ren's hand. "Let's not go back yet." 

"Alright." 

Ren agrees primarily out of curiosity. It's obvious that Goro has a scheme of some sort in mind, his mannerisms impish and his tone conspiratorial. He ostensibly has no idea where he is or where he's headed, but nonetheless he walks with purpose. Any attempt Ren makes to admonish him - "Slow down, honey, shush, come on, people are sleeping" - is undermined by a spellbound fondness in his voice. With little resistance he relents to being pulled into the tornado of confused footsteps and hyenoid laughter. 

Sparse streetlights eventually emerge to give their eyes some reprieve from the constant strain. These lights are neither particularly bright nor particularly reliable, but they allow Ren to reacquaint himself with the distinguishing features of Goro's face: the slightly snobbish slope of his nose, the juvenile plumpness of his cheeks, the way his ears stick out amongst his dishevelled but lovely hair. He gives each of these areas a quick kiss to show how much he has missed them, eliciting a low hum of contentment from Goro's throat. 

Somehow, Ren realises, Goro still smells like the city. If he filters every breath he takes through the fabric of Goro's shirt, he can almost forget that they ever left. He tucks his head between Goro's shoulder and neck, intending to do just that, when Goro says, "Haven't you realised where we are?" 

Reluctantly, Ren looks up. His parents house crashes suddenly into his field of vision, as though spat out of the sky. Only a low fence separates them from the back garden, from the neatly shorn patch of grass across which he used to attempt cartwheels and the rusting skeleton of his old bicycle that still rests against the wall. He turns to Goro again. "How did you-" 

Goro tilts his head and Ren closes his mouth, feeling foolish. What a ridiculous question. He knows exactly how Goro did it, how he found his way here in the dark despite having only been here once before, how he shepherded Ren along with him without Ren realising where they were going. Years of playacting humdrum domesticity may have put their metaverse skills on the back burner, but it has not erased them. The real question is why, so Ren asks that instead. 

Goro, quite pleased with himself, says, "Why what?" 

"Why are we here?" 

"Because I want to see inside." 

Ren lets out an incredulous little laugh. "It's the middle of the night. My parents are asleep." Goro isn't dissuaded by this appeal; he's already reaching over the gate to open the latch. Ren becomes more insistent, almost frantic. "Even if they are awake, you know they won't let us in. You saw how my mother acted this morning." 

Goro glances over his shoulder, smiling. Again he wears the face of a hungry wild animal. "Who said anything about being let in?"

Convincing Ren to break into his parents' house is surprisingly easy. He puts up a brief show of resistance, but truthfully he's been searching all day for a way to retaliate against his mother's earlier cruelty. One challenging look from Goro is all it takes to wear him down. 

"Shit," Goro mutters. He's spent the last handful of minutes trying to jimmy a bottom floor window open with brute force, to very minimal success. 

"Let me try," says Ren. 

"You think you're better at this than me?" 

"I think that since this used to be my bedroom window, I probably have an idea how to open it." 

Goro acquiesces with a shrug and steps away from the window. Ren places his hands on the underside of the window frame, pushing upwards until it clicks. "You lucked out having a bottom floor bedroom," Goro remarks, watching him work. "Sneak out a lot?" 

"Never." 

"Goddamn goody two-shoes." 

One more hearty shove from Ren and the window slides open with ease. Goro crosses his arms and scoffs. "I'm sure you loosened it a little," Ren jibes. 

Goro rolls his eyes. "Nice going, Joker." The old nickname slips out by accident, causing both of them to freeze on the spot. Ren swallows thickly. A shiver runs the length of his spine. When he steps up onto the windowsill he does so shakily, essentially falling into his old bedroom with a discordant thud. 

"Way to be inconspicuous," Goro comments, landing gracefully beside him. He reaches out a hand to help Ren get back on his feet. 

Ren puts a finger to his lips. He glances warily around the room. A stripped bed frame sits against the westerly wall. On the other side of the room is an old chest of drawers, but the room has otherwise been packed away into a series of cardboard boxes that clutter the floor. 

"Was that your bed?" asks Goro in a whisper. 

Ren shakes his head. "Mine was a single. They turned it into a guest room after I left." 

Goro paces around the room, trying to picture how it might have looked when Ren was its sole occupant. It was probably pretty tidy - Ren's spaces always are - but there were perhaps some elements of clutter here and there, like crooked posters on the walls and stacks of books with cracked spines piled up on the nightstand. He wanders over to the chest of drawers and starts opening each one, disappointed each time he finds nothing inside. 

"You're so nosy," Ren remarks, watching from the other side of the room. Goro seems incongruent against the backdrop of his formative years, a dizzying collision of past and present. 

Finally, Goro's snooping brings about a discovery. He pulls out a small wooden picture frame and holds it close to his face, squinting until the photo within comes into focus. A small boy with dark hair grins up at him from behind a cracked sheet of glass. In one of his tiny hands is a familiar plush giraffe. "Hey," says Goro, motioning for Ren to come closer. "Look who it is." 

Ren peers at the photo over Goro's shoulder. Memories trickle back, so fragmented that he struggles to translate them into words. "I think that was the day I got him," he says uncertainly. "It was my eighth birthday. My grandmother took me to a zoo." 

"Was she nice?" 

"My grandmother? I guess so. A little strict maybe, but she paid attention." 

Unlike his parents, Goro mentally adds. He notices Ren's outstretched hand and passes the photo to him. 

Ren runs his finger over the crack in the glass. It slices across the centre of the photo, separating the top half of his body from the bottom. "Funny that this didn't make it into any of the boxes," he utters. He forces out a laugh as though it really is funny, but his voice erupts into splinters, giving him away. "Jesus," he says, more bleakly. "They really hate me." 

"Oh, Ren." Goro turns, placing his hands on Ren's shoulders. The tears brewing in Ren's eyes glisten in the moonlight; it would almost be beautiful if it wasn't breaking Goro's heart. 

Some might try and convince Ren that he's wrong, that his parents do love him in their own strange way, but Goro knows better than that. Instead he says, "Who gives a damn if they do," sliding his hands up and over Ren's neck to finally rest on either side of his face. "A lot of people do love you. A lot of vastly superior people. Sojiro, Futaba, your friends-" 

A tear springs loose. Goro feels the warmth of it bursting on his palm. "Anyone else?" Ren asks. Despite his upset there is a playful undercurrent to his words. 

Goro laughs softly, brushing away more tears with his thumbs. "I was just getting to that, you impatient little thing." He then leans in close to Ren's ear, lowering his voice to a barely audible volume. "I love you." 

Ren takes a shaky breath. "How much?" 

"More than anything. More than…" Goro trails off. He springs away like a startled cat. "Shit. Am I hearing things again?" 

Ren blinks away his tears and looks at the door. A light must have been turned on somewhere in the house; traces of it are stealing into this room through the cracks. "Not this time. We've got to go." 

Adrenaline wakes up the dormant phantom thief inside of Ren. The rest of his tears dry in an instant. He tosses the photo frame back into the drawer and closes it with his hip before making for the window. His exit is much more elegant than his entrance; he can almost feel the whip of his signature tailcoat as he touches down in the garden. "Crow," he hisses through the open window. "Come on." 

"I'm coming," Goro says. This time the code name barely elicits a reaction. It feels natural now that they're in escape mode. This is no longer Ren's childhood home, but a palace about to self-destruct. 

After what feels like an eternity, Goro joins Ren in the garden. "What took you so long?" Ren asks. 

Goro grabs him by the wrist. "Stop asking questions and run, idiot."

And so they run. They run the whole way to the Airbnb without stopping to look back, a feat neither of them knew they were capable of anymore. "Fucking hell," Goro groans, slumping against the outer wall of the barn. "I'm going to feel that in the morning." 

Ren isn't fairing much better. Exhaustion has him trembling, making it very difficult to put the key in the lock. "Keep your voice down," he says hoarsely. "You'll wake Inoue." 

"So? What's he going to do, kick you out of school again?" 

At last Ren gets the door open and slaps the light switch on. They stumble inside, panting wildly. The sofa is a mere few feet away, but they need a moment before they can stomach even that meagre distance. 

Ren clutches his sides, his body screaming in protest at the unusual burst of exercise. "My ears are ringing," he says. When Goro doesn't answer, he looks over at him. Like Ren he's clutching himself, but one of his hands is positioned worryingly close to his heart. Ren steps closer. "Are you okay?" 

Goro meets his eye. "Huh? Oh, yeah." His hand shifts, revealing a conspicuous lump underneath his sweater vest. When he realises that Ren's eyes are fixed to that spot, he adds, "I did something bad." 

Ren raises an eyebrow. He watches as Goro reaches a hand under his sweater vest and pulls something out of it. Something wooden and rectangular with a cardboard stand on the back. Oh. Ren recalls the stretch of time he'd waited for Goro outside the house, wondering what was taking him so long. Had he really risked being caught just to retrieve that photo? 

"I rescued you," Goro says, turning the frame, confirming Ren's suspicion. Ren stares at his eight-year-old self, the fatigue making his already inscrutable expression even more difficult to read. 

Troubled by the silence, Goro starts filling it with senseless rambling. "I… I know it was risky, but I thought we could get a new frame for it and hang it up in the apartment." He holds the photo to his chest protectively. Ren just blinks at him. "Maybe you don't want it there, though. It's okay if you don't. I can keep it at work, or we can give it to Sojiro, or… Hell, we can even throw it out if you want to. I just couldn't leave it there. I couldn't leave any part of you in that house-" 

Ren uses his last shred of energy to rush at Goro and fling his arms around him. He kisses him, a long, hard kiss that undoes the progress they’ve both made in settling their heart rates. "You're unbelievable," he sobs, collapsing onto his shoulder. "I love you so much." 

The embrace is so tight that the corners of the photo frame dig into both of their stomachs, but neither of them complain. Ren burrows into Goro's hair and inhales noisily. "What are you doing?" Goro questions, laughing. "I'm all sweaty." 

"I don't care," says Ren. "You smell like home."