Chapter Text
Akechi has been following Kurusu into the Metaverse for far longer than those sanctimonious Phantom Thieves would like to believe. He’s spent weeks of his life crouched in some unseen cranny of Mementos, watching Kurusu obliterate Shadows. Akechi has seen enough to know that the lion’s share of Kurusu’s Personas didn’t claw their way out of his heart, like everyone else’s. Kurusu catches his Personas in the wild, and tames them through sheer force of will.
For a time, Akechi found this fact more than a little alarming. Did Kurusu simply not have a Persona of his own? And if so, what on earth did that say about the state of his heart? It was bad enough for one’s heart to hold two Personas warring within. But to have no true self at all? Was it possible that Kurusu was even more hollow than he was?
The first time Akechi spies Kurusu muttering over his shoulder to something that's not-quite-there, he’s relieved. Kurusu does have a heart, even if he doesn’t often call on it. But there’s still far too much that he doesn’t understand.
Once he’s successfully finagled his way onto the team, Akechi invites his newfound “leader” to the jazz club to ask about it outright.
“Kurusu-kun,” he says, conspiratorial and with just a touch of disarming impudence, “will you allow me a somewhat intrusive question?”
“For you?” Kurusu asks. “Anything.”
“You’re too kind,” Akechi tells him simperingly. In the back of his mind, Loki pretends to vomit. “Well… Morgana tells us that our Personas express the truth that hides within our hearts. I, of course, possess only one true self; as do the rest of your compatriots.”
Akechi leans forward and affects a thoughtful, inquisitive expression, as though his question were a whimsical philosophical inquiry and not a damning condemnation of Kurusu’s underlying nature.
“How, then, did your heart come to possess such multitudes? Did you attain all your Personas through negotiation, as we’ve seen, or did you once Awaken in the, ah, traditional fashion?”
“That is intrusive,” Kurusu says agreeably, and then holds his hands up before Akechi can backpedal. “It’s fine,” he adds. He takes a slow sip as he mulls it over. “It’s just, uh… A complicated question with a complicated answer.”
“My itinerary is clear,” Akechi says lightly. Kurusu’s eyebrow twitches.
“You’re all mine tonight, huh? What an honor.”
Of course it’s an honor, you dull-witted, needlessly-circumspect buffoon.
“Not at all,” Akechi titters, flapping one hand bashfully. “By all means, Kurusu-kun, you have my ear.”
Kurusu looks hard at him, and then shrugs.
“I Awoke to my Persona, same as anyone else,” he says quietly, looking off into the dark of the jazz club. “I just… Don’t like to use him, I guess.”
“Don’t like to?”
Kurusu shrugs.
“Personas are… reflections of ourselves,” he says slowly, as though considering each word before he speaks it. “They reflect what’s in our heart. For me, that includes the people I care about.”
“Your Personas reflect other people?” Akechi repeats, disbelieving. Kurusu gives him another diffident shrug.
“As they exist in my heart, I guess. Not the people themselves, but -- the space I hold for them; my conception of them. That’s why I can have so many.”
“All save the first,” Akechi says, leadingly.
Kurusu shrugs.
“Your true Persona,” Akechi goes on, and Kurusu shrugs again.
“I don’t know about that,” he says evasively. Akechi frowns.
“You don’t know about that?” he asks just a shade too sharply, and then consciously softens his tone. “But it was born from the depths of your own heart, Kurusu-kun. Surely it’s the Persona that represents you in the truest sense.”
“Well,” Kurusu says, with more of that same reluctance. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think that I’m most myself when I’m reflecting others. I’m not sure if I even have a…” He bites that particular sentiment off, goes quiet for a moment. Then his mouth twists ruefully. “I talk a lot when I’m with you,” he says softly. “It’s… unusual.”
And then, leaving Akechi to grapple with that particular revelation, Kurusu stands.
“We should get to bed,” he sighs. “We’re headed to the Palace again tomorrow.”
“Will you show me your Persona?” Akechi asks impulsively.
“What,” Kurusu says wryly. “You want me to call him right here?”
“When we meet up tomorrow?” Akechi presses, not backing down. “I’d love to see him.”
Kurusu gives him another of those lingering, unreadable stares. Then he smiles.
“Sure,” he says tiredly, running a hand through his tangle of hair. “Whatever you like.”
##
But when Kurusu tries to call him, his Persona doesn’t come.
“That’s weird,” he says, frowning. “I thought I’d…”
He shakes his head, brushes it off.
“I must not have summoned him,” he says, offering Akechi a disarmingly sheepish smile. Almost imperceptibly, Akechi’s eyes narrow. He recognizes a mask sliding into place when he sees one.
“Not summoned him?” he repeats, his tone light and curious. “From where, exactly?”
“If you had as many Personas as I do,” Kurusu says, with a rakish gleam that utterly fails to distract Akechi from the fact that he’s avoiding the question, “You’d lose track of them, too. C’mon,” he adds, with a nonchalant toss of his curls. “We’ve gotta catch up with the others.”
Akechi finds himself glaring at Kurusu’s back, squarely between his shoulder blades. It’s a classic redirection tactic -- drawing Akechi’s focus with a faintly-insulting joke and then briskly pivoting to other, more pressing matters. Kurusu is avoiding the subject, and he’s working to keep Akechi away from it, too. Frankly, the only real insult is that Kurusu thinks it would work on him. Akechi has been wielding misdirection with lethal precision since grade school.
Kurusu is hiding something. Kurusu can’t call his Persona, and is desperate to make sure Akechi doesn’t find out. Does Kurusu distrust Akechi specifically, or is this a secret he’d keep from anyone? Akechi shelves the concern and prepares the day’s disguise: a shining, glassy smile half-shadowed by the long, hooked beak of his mask.
“Of course,” he says, nodding prettily, and he follows Kurusu into the casino.
##
The next day, Kurusu doesn’t call them to the hideout.
It’s not a problem. They’ve got almost three weeks left until their deadline. That’s more than enough time to race through Sae-san’s psyche.
The day after that, Kurusu still doesn’t call them to the hideout. Akechi’s not overly concerned. Kurusu does this sometimes -- indulges his whims and prioritizes social calls, or (still more mystifyingly) rest over their mission. Akechi can’t relate, but he doesn’t particularly mind, either. Over the course of their -- acquaintanceship, Kurusu has proven himself fairly reliable. He’s earned a few idle days.
But when Kurusu doesn’t call on them for an entire week, Akechi begins to worry.
They need to get through Sae’s palace by the 19th, because that’s when Akechi is due to kill him. If he can’t kill Kurusu, all of his plans will be lost, and everything he’s done will have been for nothing.
Did Kurusu find out about Akechi’s true intentions? Impossible, Akechi thinks dismissively. He’s thoroughly covered his tracks. Besides, even if Kurusu’s litany of Personas confirms the boy as a deft deceiver in his own right, his pack of trained gorillas certainly isn’t. If the Phantom Thieves knew the truth, they’d hardly be able to fight at Akechi’s side, would they? And their expressions of dislike would certainly not be confined to the occasional passive-aggressive one-liner.
If Akechi assumes that Kurusu hasn’t uncovered his plan, it means that something else is going on. Kurusu is hiding something from his team -- or at the very least, from his rival. He’s avoiding the Metaverse, and he won’t (or can’t) call his Persona. Put all the pieces together, and what do you get?
Breathless in the dark of his apartment, Akechi pulls out his phone and pulls up the Meta-Nav.
“Kurusu Akira,” he murmurs, and holds his breath.
“Candidate found,” the digitized voice hums back.
In spite of his suspicions, Akechi’s composure slips; his breath hitches in his chest. Kurusu Akira has a Palace. Do the others know? Does Kurusu?
Akechi spends the next four hours hunched over his phone, testing out keywords. To be perfectly honest, he’s not sure why he’s so determined to get in. What does it matter if Kurusu has a Palace? Distorted heart or no, Kurusu isn’t the type to avoid his responsibilities. Once the Phantom Thieves’ leader has satisfied his own curiosity, he’ll return to Sae’s Palace, and Akechi can kill him, right on schedule.
It must simply be his natural spirit of inquisition, then, that drives Akechi to conduct such a thorough investigation.
He already knows the location. Tokyo was the first thing he tried. Kurusu’s distortion, however, is proving more difficult than Akechi anticipated.
“Jailhouse,” he murmurs to his phone, and “Therapist’s office,” and “Battleground,” “Prison” and “Morgue.”
Nothing.
Akechi glances at the clock. It’s 2:45 am. He really can’t afford the distraction -- not now, with his plans at the brink of realization. Still. Kurusu’s Palace could hold significant strategic advantages for him. What's the harm in learning a little more?
Kurusu-kun, he taps into his phone. Are you available for dinner tomorrow?
He sends it before he remembers that it’s the middle of the damned night, and realizes how that might look. Damn. But it’s of little import. Whatever leverage Kurusu might have on him will fade into obscurity once Akechi has successfully infiltrated his heart; and will vanish entirely when Kurusu is dead in the ground. All Akechi has to do is bide his time, and his prey will fall right into his hands.
His phone buzzes.
Up late, Mr. Detective? Kurusu asks impudently, and Akechi flushes with impotent fury. I’m working tomorrow, unfortunately.
Akechi's disappointment hisses through his teeth. It’s better this way, probably. He can find his way into Kurusu’s distorted heart without help; he’s done it before, and for criminals he knew much less about. This way, he can avoid the distinct displeasure of the delinquent’s overly-familiar advances, and the way Akechi always finds himself saying more than he meant to.
His phone buzzes again.
But since it’s you, Kurusu purrs -- Akechi can picture just how he’d say it, every syllable drenched with provocative subtext; Kurusu does enjoy his little mind games -- I’ll make it work. Stop by my workplace? I’ll send you the address.
All right, Akechi replies pleasantly, thin lips drawn back to bare pointed teeth. I’ll see you then.
He throws his phone across his threadbare futon, and then chases after it when it buzzes one last time. It’s Kurusu, who would rather self-immolate than permit anyone else to get the last word. Akechi already knows what he’ll say, but -- like watching a traffic accident, or the helpless twitching of an eviscerated Shadow the moment before it turns to dust -- he can’t stop himself from looking. Face tight with preemptive disapproval, Akechi squints at the screen.
It’s a date.
This time, his phone slides clear off the edge of his bed. When it hits the ground, Akechi can hear the screen crack.