Chapter Text
Goro's fingers fumble about with the coffee grinder. His success in finding the on switch fills the room with a grating noise and the smell of beans that have gone stale. He prepares a pour-over on his kitchen counter, the room lit only by the streetlights and signage from between the slats of open blinds. Standard for another winter morning, cursed by an inability to sleep in.
Tanzania peaberry. An expensive gift, it would have been a bright, citrusy thing back in November. In January it tastes like cardboard and acid. Everything else does, too.
He sits in a lone dining chair next to the single window beside his kitchen counter. Most of his time is spent here, at least, it has since his divine rebirth. When he isn't tossing and turning under his sheets he stares a hole into the wall for hours. He raises the blinds to crack the window open, assaulting himself with subzero air. On the counter rests a pack of pianissimos, a lighter, and his phone lighting up with yet another text message notification.
AKIRA
you're awake, right?
He flips his phone over. The light of a second notification reflects against the counter top. To this, he brings a cigarette to his lips to light it. He sighs on the exhale and holds his hand toward the open window. Another notification. He clenches his jaw, grabbing the phone with his other hand.
AKIRA
actually, i'm not giving you an out this time. i know you are. can we talk?
i said please yesterday, so, today i will remind you that i know where you live.
Goro rolls his eyes, ashing his cigarette out the window and into the alley below it. He types as furiously as he can with just his left hand.
GORO
Don't you have better things to do with yourself at six in the morning? Going to school, for example?
AKIRA
no.
it's sunday.
That's right. Sunday again. The days have started to blur together in this psychologically horrifying and perverted groundhog day vision of perfection and wellness and joy. Each day looks so similar. He had stopped going to classes, himself. Living up to the hypocrisy he outed himself for, even now. What use does a corpse have for education? For entrance exams, a career… For whatever Akira was trying to rope him into. He could—no, should— be decomposing, instead. He hopes Maruki can hear his thoughts, unfiltered. Wishing hasn't been enough to make his dreams come true. Maybe he hasn't wished hard enough. How much begging did Akira have to do to bring him back? Akira couldn't desire his presence more than he wanted to be back where he belonged: six fathoms under, alongside the rubble of Shido's tacky cruiser. He takes a deep breath, loosening his grip on his phone so he doesn't launch it through the wall.
GORO
You're impossible.
AKIRA
so… my place or yours?
GORO
Let me know when you are ready to meet at the palace.
AKIRA
great! see you at your place around 9, then.
Baited. There's a feeling at the back of his neck reminding him that this was going to happen whether or not he had participated, but he resents giving Akira the satisfaction. His stomach churns from the seething rush of blood through him, worsened by the ashy mix of coffee and nicotine on an empty stomach.
Some days are easier than others to ignore the consistent messages. It must have been his fault for thinking about Akira so early. He needed more time to disconnect again. Akira had a sixth sense, always knowing when Goro had him on his mind. He glances around his flat, noting the small messes to clean up before reminding himself that Akira was coming over wholly uninvited and undeserving of his better self. The pile of dishes in his sink and his unmade bed are just the price he'd pay for barging in. Goro settles for standing in the shower until long past it starts to run cold, instead.
He towels his hair as he flips through the local channels on the small television sat across from his kitchen counter, finding the early morning Featherman reruns. It only took three days back in his flat for Goro to give up on watching the news. He isn't interested in hearing another self-aggrandizing success story or heartwarming scientific discovery at the top of every hour. The sun gave the small living space some warmth as it peeks over the horizon. His second cup of coffee is more palatable, the notes of tangerine and chocolate trying to make themselves known through the overpowering reminders of cardboard. There's a knock on his door. He ignores it, taking another long sip from his mug. His phone blinks to life next to him.
AKIRA
i can hear your tv. let me in, it's freezing in the hallway.
i brought breakfast.
Goro opens his front door just wide enough to give Akira an extended look of displeasure. Akira responds in kind, pushing his hand against the door to make room for himself to slide past.
"This is an invasion of my privacy." He stands by the door, leaving it open as an implied suggestion. His arms remain crossed. Akira takes his time examining the unfamiliar room before turning and mimicking the gesture. Whatever impression he gathers isn't obvious in his body language. Silence hangs in the air. Akira wins out, Goro lacks the energy to give much more of a fuck about it. He nudges the door closed, Akira relaxes his shoulders in time with the click of the latch.
"I made extra curry this morning. You have a portable burner, right?" Akira fishes through his bag, notably missing its' most common cargo. In Morgana's place is a container with the leftovers.
"Second lower cabinet to your left." Goro refuses to move away from his standing position by the door. At the safe distance, he observes Akira nose around in his belongings like they were his own. He finds the unused cookware in the same cabinet.
Akira plugs in the burner, still hasn't taken off his coat. "It's freezing in here, you know." He doesn't look away from his work, although his face looks more pleased at himself as the smell of the curry brings some more enrichment to the place.
"The window is open."
"Close it?" Akira gives him a baffled look, "And come sit down. You're fidgeting over there like you're going to make a run for it."
"I'm fine where I am." He weighs the outcomes of making a grand exit in the background of his mind.
"Don't tell me what to do." Each word ends sharply, more staccato than volume in his voice.
Akira pauses at this, replacing confusion with flatness. "You're right. Whatever suits you. We can get right to it: Why have you been dodging all of my communication?"
"Frankly, Akira, let me ask you a question instead. Why do you feel that I owe you communication?"
Akira bristles, gripping at the wooden utensil in his hand with such force that his nails dig into his palms. "I'm sorry. I don't think you owe me that."
Goro looks at him, skeptically. "Says the one who invited himself in."
"I'm worried about you."
"Things would be easier if you didn't."
"There's something going on that you aren't talking about."
"I need time to think."
"About what?"
"About whatever I want to think about, Akira. I have the right to do it alone."
There's a beat, a clatter of silverware. Akira's tone shifts.
"Do you want me to leave? I just wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself." He's plated the leftovers by this point. It's a kindness that Goro promptly feels he doesn't deserve.
He crosses the distance in slow, discomforted steps to sit down at the counter in front of Akira. He closes the window next to it. Frustration inside him crumples into a paper ball. "Thank you."
"No problem." Akira looks down as he smiles, a sense of pride and embarrassment for pushing so hard.
The television plays in the background, the only noise in the still moment as Goro wordlessly eats breakfast for the first time in days. He refused to acknowledge how poorly he had been taking care of himself. But, really, what would the point be, anyway? Making Akira happy? That's all he was doing. The distance is a favor in the long term. Akira would see that, eventually.
Akira leans forward as he stands behind the counter, placing his elbows on the surface so he can prop his head up with his hands and inspect the passing moment. He can tell how much thought was going through Goro's head. It's the subtle changes in his face. The way he squints down at the plate, or how he tenses his shoulders forward. His eyes shift from Goro's face, to his hands, down the counter… Akira straightens his posture and grabs the green box of cigarettes. "Are these any good?" Anything to lighten the mood.
"Not really."
"Who did you convince to buy them for you?" He teases, letting curiosity lead the conversation.
"No one." He pauses, finishing to chew the bite of his food. "Not many repercussions for stealing Taspo cards, these days, it seems." Akira nearly chokes on the force of the laugh that comes from his chest.
"Unbelievable." He shakes his head, the word coming out quieter than the passive noise muffled in the background. They smell different than the cigarettes he recognizes on Sojiro, or from the regular Leblanc patrons. Something… Menthol…? Citrus? Akira slides one from the pack, watching Goro's reaction as he took his time sliding his lighter closer.
Goro leans back in his chair. "Not good for you."
"Mm. Self destructive, then." He taps his chin with the metal top of the lighter.
"That's something I can be honest about."
"I can't join you?"
"In self destructing? No."
"Selfish."
"You already knew that." Goro takes the lighter and cigarette from Akira. He places it between his lips to light it, inhaling deep from his diaphragm. He points his face away to exhale, handing the end to Akira.
Akira places it between his fingers, thoughtful for a moment. He closes his eyes when he brings it to his lips, trialing the feeling of taking a breath. On exhale, he scrunches his nose. "Huh." It's like swallowing the dying breath of a campfire, before a weight is lifted from his shoulders.
"Everything you thought it would be?"
"Disgusting." He tries again, the scrunch of his nose less prominent, this time. "I understand the appeal, though." He hands it back to Goro, who ashes it in his used coffee mug.
"These are much more mild than your average cigarette. Sounds like you won't be picking up a habit any time soon."
"Why these?"
"I got curious about the things I might not be able to try once this is over."
"Why these, in specific?" Akira clarifies, plucking the cigarette from Goro's hand and taking a third drag off it.
"You should take off your coat. Seems like you are going to stay awhile."
"You're dodging my question." A pointed look, handing the cigarette back.
"Just pointing out that you look uncomfortable." A shrug. Akira complies, unbuttoning his coat and folding it over his arms. He sets it down at the edge of the counter. Goro lets the cigarette burn between his fingers while he considers the right words to say. "I have a pack of Meivus menthols in my bag. Shido smokes those. They're foul, mind you. You can tell a lot about a person by what cigarettes they smoke. The pack my mother smoked were pink. These have a similar scent, but, not what I remember. Peach flavored. These are supposedly lime."
Akira's expression turns soft. Questions assault his thoughts: What other things did she do? What things did she like? Did she look like you? Do you miss her? Would she have liked me? He doesn't ask. "Are you allowed to smoke in your flat?"
"Honestly? I don't know. I didn't check the lease. Probably not." He blows smoke into the room, as if it proves his point.
They pass the remnants of it between them for a moment. The sound of the television has become white noise existing in some other reality outside themselves. Akira snubs it out inside the mug filled with the last drops of coffee and ash. Goro takes the queue to go wash dishes, leaving Akira to analyze the emptiness of the room again. Not much inside beyond the singular chair, his bed, and the small TV on a desk in the corner. There are some books and loose papers on the desk, a layer of dust has settled on it all. Just how long had it been between Shido's palace and now?
Akira sighs, realizing how much his legs were beginning to ache from standing. He goes to sit on Goro's bed, stretching out his legs and back as he does. It's nice, he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel a mattress on a box spring rather than plastic milk crates.
"I don't get many guests. Sorry." The sound of running water is calming. Alive. Something more than existing.
"It's a nice place. You should get out more, though."
Another dish goes on the rack. "Do you have plans for tonight?" The words roll from his tongue naturally. It would be better if they remained foreign.
"Kept my schedule open for you."
"I see. In the mood to lose at anything in particular, then?"
"You've softened up."
He turns off the sink, finished with the small pile of dishes. "I'm not ready to talk about it, Akira." Please stop. Goro keeps his back towards him, refusing to show the plea on his face.
"Fine. Come with me to the batting cages?"
Thank you. He turns to look at Akira, comfortably staring at him from the mess of his sheets. "That's a specific mood to be in. I suppose I would be interested in taking out some aggression."
"Winner can buy dinner." Akira winks, rushing to put his coat on and slide out the door, just as slippery as when he entered.
Another week goes by, the time runs together in a collection rather than separate events. Akira's texts continue to go unanswered most days. It's easier this way. It's a line in the sand. The last dredges of control he feels over his life, even if it comes at an expense. Goro sees how it weighs on Akira when the thieves meet up. The passive glances, the unsaid words. It'd be easier if Akira wasn't so kind. If he could just push his buttons a little more. Ruining it all would be easier. Making him hurt would be easier. Without much else to do in the between, he thinks of all the ways to tear Akira apart. Then he thinks about Akira's pitiful heartbroken face and his stomach fills with acid. It's all he can think of this week.
Akira calls him, this time. It rings once in the darkness of his room. He stares at the screen for a moment, adjusting to curl his legs closer to himself under his bedsheets. It rings again. He answers.
"Hello, Akira."
"What's your game plan, here? Come February?"
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't gone to school. You haven't gone to work. When you aren't home, you're looking into Maruki. I caught you out in Kichijoji three days ago when I was with Sumire and you pretended to not see me. You're not sleeping enough. You're hardly eating."
"My apologies for worrying you. Do you have a referral to a therapist I should get in contact with? I've just been so horribly depressed."
"I can't stand you."
"Then the feeling is mutual."
"You're giving me all the signs that you're going to off yourself, and you make it a joke."
Silence. That's his first thought?
"Oh. If that's the concern, no, I won't be killing myself in February." Goro finally responds with. It's hollow. It's the truth.
"I'm not sure if I believe that."
"I don't want to talk about this, Akira."
"Is that going to change? We only have a few weeks left."
"You're going to have to accept this, Akira."
"Accept what?"
That I am scared of trusting you, he doesn't say. "I'll see you at Leblanc tomorrow. You haven't finished that game yet, right? I wanted to see how it ends before everyone gathers."
"…No."
"Okay, see you tomorrow. Goodnight." The phone clicks. On the other end, Akira puts his pillow to his face and lets out a harsh, frustrated noise for no one but himself.
In the morning, Goro stands outside of Leblanc for a half hour, just narrowly out of sight from the doorway. Every excuse he can think of passes through his mind. Sorry Akira, I've come down with something. I'm just going to stay home today. No reason to pass it on to you… Actually I decided to start going back to work. Hope you don't mind me bailing on you today… Maybe I am losing my mind, I'm checking myself into the hospital. Don't call me ever again.
He takes a deep breath, raising his shoulders and gritting his teeth. He has to maintain some semblance of connection to keep the balance. On the exhale, he opens the door.
Sojiro looks at the door, then Goro, then back at the cup of coffee he was sipping from. "Akira's upstairs." Thankfully, Sojiro never stopped minding his own business. Goro nods his head to him, quietly making his way up the worn steps to the attic.
"Catch." Akira tosses something at Goro's head as he reaches the top of the stairs. He stops it from colliding with his forehead.
In his hand, a pink box of pianissimo cigarettes. It's open, one missing from the box.
"I was curious. Hope you don't mind."
"Why…?" Why did you go searching for this? Why do you care? Why do you think so much about me? He can't decide which to go with and his words die out.
"You said you could learn a lot about people from the cigarettes they smoke. I thought if I could learn more about her I could figure you out, too." He stands to turn on the console, the 8-bit chime sings to the room. "I still don't get you, by the way."
"That makes sense. After all, I'm not much like her." Goro sits next to Akira as he opens up the starting menu. He stares down at the box in his hand, he blinks away the pull of tears from his eyes. "…Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"You must've looked around for this. I wasn't trying too hard." He sits in the empty space next to him. Akira is radiating warmth even from a distance.
"…Yeah. I saw a vending machine with them a few days after we went to the batting cages."
"You took the Taspo card."
"Caught red-handed." He holds up his hands, in one is the Taspo card Goro had swiped from one of his unsuspecting coworkers before quietly resigning.
A wave of relief washes through him. It's cleansing, like some sort of grime that lived on his soul finally let itself get scrubbed away. "I figured Maruki changed something. Wanted me to do better for myself, maybe. I can hardly tell the difference between reasonable outcomes and… Something caused by his influence."
"You're equating your downward spiral to defying him."
"Because it is defiance. I want no part of his bullshit ideals."
"Wouldn't living a good life in spite of…" Akira gestures vaguely to the room, "This? Be defiance, too?"
Goro blinks.
"Aren't you proving him right? In a way."
"What are you trying to get at?" A statement, rather than curiosity. The punctuation in his voice stresses his distaste.
"He sees suffering as something to be removed, something that no one can bear to hold inside themselves… Right?"
Goro nods cautiously, crossing his arms.
"We both know that's not the truth, though. There's purpose after struggle."
"Be more transparent, Kurusu."
The turn of the knife was visible on his face. "…You've been calling me Akira since October."
"My point still stands."
There is a pause in the air. Akira closes his eyes, letting out a sigh and the tension that lived with it.
"It is that we are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love." Akira recites, pulling the quotation from his memory with a look downwards at the bare attic flooring.
"Freud." Goro shakes his head, glaring into the backside of Akira's head. "Is this some sort of confession? I would hardly place this on my list of priorities, right now."
"Yes? Kind of?" His eyes flick upwards to meet Goro's. There's an intensity from Akira that ties a knot inside him. "I think you feel the same."
"I—" He's quickly interrupted with a finger to his lips.
"Let me finish." Akira removes his hand, "I think you feel the same and it scares you. Why?"
Something hot boils up inside of him, tugging at the edge of his being. It pulls on that knot in his gut, the fear, and it snaps in two. "What are you? A child? Do you think this—"
"There are people downstairs, Goro."
"They aren't real, Akira." Each syllable of his name doused with poison, "None of this is real, Akira. Neither is whatever delusion you've bought into in which I share this sweet, romantic fantasy of being with you. I feel nothing for you but contempt. You think you can manipulate me with kindness and compassion into believing in a shared future? You're pitiful. Love? You think I love you?" His face is wet. It doesn't quite register why. When he's imagined this moment, Akira looked different. Despondent, broken. Sometimes he was full of rage, sometimes he yelled back. He would have preferred that to the look he is given now. Apologetic. "Don't— Don't look at me like that. Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I don't know what I did to lose your trust."
"You didn't—" But, he did. He did lose trust, from the moment he recognized that this reality was someone else's creation. Death means nothing here, someone can simply will another back into existence. A part of him wonders if a bullet to the head would end it for him, or if he'd wake up back in his apartment like it never happened. That same part of him didn't want to confirm his hypothesis. That's it— He is stuck. Trapped. Strung along, again and again and again. A bartering chip, a tool. The pawn in the way. Whatever his most useful form is, he takes. He stands here pulled from a river of souls to serve a greater purpose. Regardless of his desires, his dreams, his wishes... Goro doesn't know what those are, anyway. "What do I even want from this?" He croaks out, the words escaping from the cage of his chest instead of remaining there and suffocating. It all feels like suffocating.
Akira shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms. "All my guesses have been wrong."
"Mine, too." His head tilts down, tears dripping off his chin and onto his shirt. It's soaked. How long had he been crying? He swipes it all away with the collar of his coat. "I need to step out. I'm taking a walk."
"I'll let everyone know we won't go in tonight."
"Don't you dare. I can handle myself."
"Okay."
"Don't follow me."
"…Okay."
From the attic, Akira can hear the ring of the entryway bell.
The snow has started collecting on the side streets in Yongen, big flakes twirling aimlessly toward their destination. Goro feels the remnants of his tears sting in the wind, and he wraps his scarf around his face in response. He walks in circles, pacing through the streets. Just forget about it… Just forget. His footsteps have left a trail of their own by now, starkly contrasted from the undisturbed snow beside it. Just a few more weeks. It's almost over.
His toes start to go numb, the loafers he put on this morning were not meant for this. All the kicked up snow has seeped into his socks, it makes his skin crawl. Not ready to return to Leblanc, Goro wanders into the laundromat across from it. A dryer is going, and it is warm. He kicks off his shoes and climbs to sit on the top of the washer in front of it. The heat permeates through the metal and across to him. Goro is like wool, shrinking inside the clunk of the machine. Shrinking until he feels his legs swing and a familiar kiss on his forehead. Maybe this is what Akira meant. 'Never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love.' He hasn't been allowed to be happy since she died. He never imagined he'd feel that warmth again. But, he had, despite doing nothing to earn it. Time and time again, he failed to meet the measure and he wasn't turned away.
In spite of all the ways he pushed, and fought and lied. Every disagreement, ultimatum, bullet through the head…
I think you feel the same.
Idiot.
Goro opens up his messages to Akira.
GORO
Do you have an extra pair of socks? I should have worn boots.
He sets his phone on the unused washer next to him. The pink carton in his coat pocket nudges his side, reminding him of its' existence. He lights one, trying to appreciate the fickle warmth of the lighter near his face. Peach. Goro's laugh echoes off the walls and fades tenderly. The smoke warps around his head and smells less like the regret and sorrow his memory clings onto. It's something else entirely.
There's a knock on the wooden doorway, Akira waves to him.
"I think I've lost it." Goro laughs, bright, smiling, real. "Completely snapped."
Akira stands in front of Goro, shaking his head. The look is disagreement, but there's something else there. Something…
"Put these on before you get sick." He holds out a pair of socks. Goro takes them, placing them next to his phone. Akira opens his mouth to say something in protest. Before he does, Goro grabs him with both hands by his coat collar…
And he kisses him.
It's peach. It's peach.