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It feels liberating, in a twisted sort of way. Goro Akechi finally gets his own way: how bittersweet that the last autonomous, fleeting ‘choice’ he made could’ve turned into yet another cage at the hands of another.
His own mortality has never been his; it had only been traded around several times throughout his short, agonising lifespan. It disgusts him how confident he felt in Akira’s answer. There was—of course—still a hint of anxiety that plagued him, but the deepest part of his soul had grown to trust Akira.
Standing here in Leblanc, Goro meets with the most expressive version of his rival he thinks he’s ever seen. Akira’s outward nonchalance, as Goro expected from the very start, was a front. Neither of them were dealt the best cards in life. Goro’s mask was one of polite smiles and a pleasant demeanor. Akira’s mask was stoic and empty.
The boy in front of him is anything but. There’s no attempt to school the pained expression. Goro knows that look. It’s one of conflict. Akira believes this is the hardest decision he’ll ever make. Goro is sickened by the notion this is his decision at all.
“What’s a life worth in a reality that was cooked up to satisfy someone else?” He turns away, he doesn’t dare look at the wounded animal next to him any longer, “I say none.”
He’s only fooling himself if he denies his weakness. It’s best not to linger a moment longer. He moves to leave. “We have to win this—no matter what.”
“Akechi,” there’s a hand on his shoulder. The contact burns through his winter coat, as if Akira’s skin is hot on his. Leave, Goro tries to will himself, push him away; you’re good at that. “You should know…”
Against his better judgement, Goro turns around. The pitiful version of Akira from before has been traded for someone more determined, more Joker. It almost brings a smirk to Goro’s face.
“I’m,” Akira visibly swallows, “I’m in love with you.”
Goro barely has time to think before he’s already blurting out whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Oh, Akira— no—” he tries to gather his wayward thoughts, but God—the bastard’s caught him off guard.
“It’s true, I’ve—“
“I know it’s true!” Goro exclaims, expressing with his arms. Akira lolls there dumbly, as if he hasn’t confessed the most obvious statement, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
A mass murderer is brought back from the dead because of what? The power of friendship? No, Joker’s gone and gotten himself a pointless, fleeting crush. Does Akira think he’s been avoided the entirety of last month because Goro didn’t want to see him? Does he think Goro refused all of his invitations because he truly hates him that much?
Miserable, piteous Goro Akechi would’ve liked nothing more than to spend every last of his waking moments with Akira, but that would’ve achieved the exact opposite of what he’d hoped for. If he’d given Akira the perfect month of blossoming romance, Goro would’ve only found himself trapped in the claws of this twisted reality. Akira has all the flaws of man. Even now, he’s too attached—Goro would gladly sacrifice what could’ve been the last happy moments of his life all over again for his final peace.
“I’m here,” Goro continues, a callous smile stretching across his face, “because you love me.” He narrows his eyes.
Akira shakes his head with urgency, his hair falls beautifully. “You’re being cruel—”
“I am cruel,” Goro won’t let him finish a single thought, “this is what you’re in such fictitious love with.”
“Do not assume you know my feelings better than me!” Akira snaps at him now and Goro’s smile widens, baring his teeth. He’s lit a fire under that detestable, unbearable passiveness. It tugs at his heartstrings. Play with me, Joker.
Goro bites. “No, if anything, it’s the other way around! This version of me, this Goro Akechi, was born purely of your own wishes. Perhaps it was you who desired for me to be this cruel. Who knew you were such a fucking masochist?!”
A breath leaves Akira; it’s not quite the crude laugh Goro believes it’s intended to be. He nods and takes a step back, the unreadable expression Goro has grown to hate plastered on his face. It infuriates him. He’s supposed to know how to read people, how to get inside their heads. What is he to do with impossible Akira Kurusu?
“You said it yourself,” he stares at the ground, “anyone alive is real, and you didn’t disappear when the others did!”
“That’s probably because you’re still—”
“But you don’t know,” Akira cuts him off, giving him a taste of his own medicine, “probably, you don’t know.”
Goro had found that - in the past - Akira tended to be rather agreeable when it came to Phantom Thieves business (loath as he is to admit it, this isn’t not Phantom Thieves business). The group said everything they did was to be agreed upon unanimously, but after so many votes for X, the remaining voters are usually forced away from voting for Y.
Joker—the leader—is headstrong, Goro knows, but he also likes to keep the peace.
The boy arguing with Goro now is dense with vulnerability. This isn’t the fearless leader of the revered Phantom Thieves, this is just Akira Kurusu. Pained and wronged, finally lashing out about something.
In the recesses of his twisted psyche, Goro is reeling that he is what finally gets the bastard to tick. He just wishes it wasn’t happening here and now.
Akira, catching Goro unawares, crosses a line into his personal space. It’s wildly inappropriate. He should step back. But, his eyes catch Akira’s, and suddenly they’re locked in another competition. Goro wonders what the win condition is—if Akira even knows. All he manages to do is admire the way Akira’s eyes burn with passion when they look at each other. It’s not too dissimilar to Joker’s determined fire.
The stern expression begins to melt off of Akira’s face. His eyes are tired now, sad even. If he starts crying, Goro will walk straight out. He even hopes that does come to pass a little.
It doesn’t. Akira’s eyes don’t even well up a little bit.
What does occur, however, is the breach of the last sliver of Goro’s personal space. His eyes widen as he feels Akira’s full body press against his—hands clutching around his back. He buries his head into Goro’s neck and it’s so warm. Akira is so warm. Not like him. Not like vile, cold, dead in the barrels of a no-longer-existing cognitive ship.
He simply stands there with his arms at his side. He should push Akira away. He really should. But, the warmth is so nice. It feels really good. Goro can’t really focus on the guilt of receiving the hug over the bliss of the hug itself. Was Akira always this warm? Did he always squeeze just the right amount? He’s never felt this nice before. It’s really nice. Really nice. Good. Great, even. He doesn’t remember the last time he had a hug.
Goro doesn’t hold Akira back, which eventually prompts the other to let go. His mind feels foggy and he hates it. Akira begins apologising, probably mumbling every word. Goro can’t really focus, he just continues to stare at Akira blankly. He mourns the feeling. He abhors it coming back.
He feels the need to swallow, he doesn’t. He just lets the saliva build up in his mouth, too afraid to move his face. His eyes sting. He turns around.
“Tomorrow. Be there,” Goro can’t hear himself over the blood pumping in his ears. He walks out of the coffee shop, and he doesn’t look back.