Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Akira is so fucked.

He accepted the part-time job at Untouchable because he wanted to save up money for the upcoming summer vacation — not because he wanted to end up wedged between two shelves in a warehouse, having overheard a compromising conversation between two Yakuza, who are now about to search the warehouse for the snooping part-timer who couldn’t stifle a sneeze in time.

He glances at the phone in his right hand.

I’ll be there in ten minutes, the message on his display reads, and Akira has to do his utmost not to let out a sigh to accompany his sneeze from moments ago.

If he hasn’t been shot, put in a trash bag and thrown into a river in ten minutes, that would be nothing short of a miracle. 

[Six hours earlier]

Small raindrops are splashing against the windows of Leblanc.

One, then another one, a third one, and before long they are building a steady rhythm. Akira sighs; he’ll have to bring an umbrella. It’s April, and the weather forecasts are less than unpredictable at the moment. At least he wouldn’t be surprised by a sudden downpour later when he’s already outside.

Five years have passed since the fall of Maruki’s reality and the disappearance of the Metaverse; it has taken Akira some time to adjust to a normal life, the last year of high school that he spent in his hometown — boring, monotone, with nothing to distract him from the thoughts about a boy he couldn’t save in February gnawing at him — making his stomach churn a little whenever it crosses his mind. But now he is back in Tokyo, back in Leblanc, back with the people he considers his true family. 

Akira descends the stairs from his room — now renovated into an actually usable living space with insulation and a real bed instead of a mattress on milk crates — to the café underneath, waving at Sojiro who’s carefully wiping the counter.

“Off to another odd job? You should help out an old man a little more,” he grunts, but there’s no bite to his voice.

Akira laughs, “There are other old men in need today, sorry.” When Sojiro raises an eyebrow at him, he continues, “Iwai… uh, the owner of Untouchable, remember? He’s short-staffed and asked me to help him out again. I wanna save up a bit anyway, so I accepted. Don’t worry, I’ll help you here later today.”

He checks the contents of his bag to make sure he’s got all he needs for the afternoon. Phone, wallet, keys, train ticket, a thermos can with coffee…

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just joking,” Sojiro says, smiling ever-so-slightly. “You do more than enough. Make sure to catch a break, kid.”

It’s true, Akira is currently juggling a whole bunch of jobs. Most days he helps out Sojiro at Leblanc, and in addition to his new part-time job at Untouchable he's also part-timing at the Crossroads bar and the Rafflesia flower shop. 

It’s okay, though; he likes to keep his hands busy.

While most of his friends went to university, he couldn’t really decide on what to do with his life long-term — nothing excites him quite as much as the life he used to live as the leader of the Phantom Thieves — so he decided to keep alternating between odd jobs while he figures out what he wants to do. The long working hours on some days don’t bother him.
He doesn’t like to be alone with his thoughts for too long, anyway.

Akira frowns.

“What is it?” Sojiro asks, watching the young man frantically search his pockets, then his bag, then his pockets again.

“Have you seen my…?” Akira begins, but he doesn’t have to finish his sentence, realization already dawning on Sojiro’s face.

“Oh. Yeah, you dropped it behind the counter yesterday. Here you go.” He tosses Akira a black, worn-out leather glove that he thankfully catches and immediately stuffs into the pocket of his jacket.

“You’re still carrying that around, huh?” a small voice chimes up, and suddenly Morgana is on the counter, eyeing Akira intensely as his tail flicks back and forth.

Akira awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other under his cat’s scrutinizing stare.

“I know you had a special bond with him, but… maybe it’s time to… you know.”

Akira knows what Morgana is implying; they've had this conversation many times before, after all.

Akechi Goro is dead. There is no way around it.

After the fall of Maruki’s reality, Akira’s rival disappeared into thin air. Akira wanted to keep hoping, keep waiting, even asked Futaba at one point to search for traces of the former detective — but they came up with nothing.

Akira refuses to dwell on it. Frankly, he doesn’t think he could handle it — the months he spent in his hometown without distraction from the fact were almost unbearable. But carrying the glove with him wherever he goes soothes him. It’s a comfortable weight in his pocket that reminds him of a rivalry, a promise, a man who saw through him like no other. 

He will carry a part of Akechi Goro with him, and he will never, ever, forget about him, even if he never returns.

“It’s okay,” he reassures his feline friend. Then adds for good measure, “I’ll bring home sushi after work.”

The distraction works, the cat cheerfully exclaiming “Fatty tuna!” and letting Akira scratch his ears.

“I can’t accompany you to work today, by the way,” he says between purrs. “Futaba is having a video chat with Lady Ann later, and I can’t miss that.”

“Naturally,” Akira laughs. “Have fun with Futaba and Ann.”

He shoulders his bag, gives Morgana a final pat on the head, and waves Sojiro goodbye. “See you in the evening.”

“Don’t forget about my fatty tuna!” Morgana calls after him, and Akira chuckles.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Only half an hour later, Akira is standing in front of Untouchable.

He hasn’t been here in a while, and it makes him feel a little nostalgic — this shop was usually his first stop after a visit to the Metaverse, and if it wasn’t for Iwai, he wouldn’t have known what to do with all the valuables they found in the Metaverse.
He pushes the door open and immediately spots the older man, who seems kind of lost in thought as he rearranges various goods on the shelves.

“Yo, Iwai-san,” Akira greets him, and the shop owner visibly flinches.

“Oh. Hi, Akira,” Iwai replies, relief painting his features as he turns to find his old acquaintance in the doorway.
He looks… tired. Wary. Akira sees dark bags under gray eyes that are darting around nervously, as if Iwai was still a Yakuza, and that wasn’t part of a life that he abandoned decades ago. 

“Anything the matter?” Akira asks, setting his bag down on the counter, but Iwai only shakes his head.

“Nothing. I’m just running a bit low on sleep. Thanks for helping me out.”

“No problem,” Akira smiles. 

A moment of silence passes between them, as he observes the tired man struggle to stay standing. “Get some sleep. Leave the shop to me for the rest of the day.” 

Half an hour (and a lot of convincing for Iwai to go home and take a nap) later, Akira is on his own. 

The drumming of heavy raindrops against the windows is soothing in its steady rhythm, and Akira hums a song as he rearranges some of the merchandise in the store window.  

He hasn’t seen any customers today, besides two middle-aged men who have been looking around the shop for around ten minutes, seemingly in search of something.

“Can I help you?” Akira asks one of the men, but he doesn’t grant him a response and keeps eyeing some of the knives and daggers. 

Akira shrugs his shoulders and hoists a box filled to the brim with various goods to put back in the storage room. As soon as he returns to the counter, he notices some old receipts that Iwai must have dropped, and crouches down to pick them up.

“Where’s the part-timer?” he suddenly hears a hushed voice speak.

“I saw him enter the storage room earlier. We’re good to talk here.”
 

Oh? Interesting.

Akira keeps his position crouched down behind the counter to listen in a little to their conversation. If they didn’t keep proper track of Akira’s movements, then that’s on them. 

“Iwai seems to be avoiding us. I think that tells us everything we need to know,” one of the men continues.

“He’s foolish to think he can just cut ties with us that easily,” the other grumbles, and it hits Akira that they must be ex-comrades of Iwai’s — Yakuza, in other words. They had a similar case once, back when the Metaverse was still around.

“I tried my hardest to convince him to come back. He should know that was a warning, not a plea.”

“Then it can’t be helped. Let's deal with it sooner rather than later.”

“It’s hard to catch him alone, though. He probably knows we want to get rid of him. We need to lure him somewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem. His weakness is his adoptive son. If we even just mention him, Iwai will do whatever we say, I can guarantee you that.”

Nausea boils in Akira’s stomach as he follows the hushed conversation. Well, that would explain Iwai’s stressed, borderline paranoid, look earlier. Poor guy, being caught between his son and his past as a Yakuza once again.

Carefully, he crawls back into the storage room, then re-emerges from the door once the two men seem to have finished their conversation. 

“Have you found anything to your liking?” he asks, flashing his best customer service smile, even though anxiety is bubbling in his stomach. It’s times like these that he’s glad he’s still wearing his fake glasses occasionally. They always make social interaction a little easier, even if that interaction happens to be with two Yakuza who may or may not be after his boss's life.

One of the men steps forward and wordlessly places a dagger on the counter. Akira scans his ID, as it is protocol, and remembers to make a mental note of the name on the ID — Kiyota Hisashi. There’s a good chance the ID is forged, but better be safe than sorry. 

He puts the man’s purchase into a bag and smiles at him, which is only met with a scowl from both men. Murmuring a half-hearted “thank you,” they hurriedly leave the shop.

Akira gulps.

Okay. Stay calm.

He takes a swig of coffee from his thermos can and leans against the counter, biting on his nails as he contemplates what to do. Had it been five years ago, he would simply tell the Phantom Thieves about it; they would gather information on their target, go to the Metaverse, and change their heart.

The Metaverse isn’t around anymore, but the Phantom Thieves still are. 

Even though he’s not as close to everyone anymore as he used to be — Makoto and Haru mostly keep to themselves, Sumire is busy with university and gymnastics, Yusuke tends to disappear for weeks at a time if inspiration strikes him — their group chat never died. Akira contemplates for a few more moments, then gets out his phone and opens his messenger app, just to find the group chat currently having a heated debate about the best Kitkat flavor.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)

[13:03] Panther: This is ridiculous
[13:03] Oracle: inari do not ever say this again if you value your life
[13:03] Fox: I don’t see the issue with Wasabi flavor.
[13:04] Panther: You can’t seriously imply Wasabi is above Sakura Matcha
[13:04] Fox: The packaging of Sakura Matcha is quite revolting to me in its simplicity. Wasabi’s packaging, on the other hand, has clearly a lot of thought put into it.
[13:04] Noir: I thought it was about the flavor, not the packaging…?
[13:04] Fox: I do enjoy the flavor as well.
[13:04] Oracle: WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND EATS WASABI KITKAT
[13:05] Joker: uh hi
[13:05] Oracle: AKIRA YOURE JUST IN TIME ‎(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻
[13:05] Oracle: whats your favorite kitkat flavor theres a right and a wrong answer
[13:05] Oracle: if you answer wrong im afraid youre not my brother anymore
[13:05] Skull: lol calm down futaba
[13:05] Oracle: I AM CALM
[13:05] Joker: hold on a second i’m kinda having a problem over here
[13:05] Oracle: oh?
[13:06] Joker: so i’m currently part-timing at iwai’s shop, right
[13:06] Joker: i accidentally overheard a conversation between two customers. i was picking stuff up from behind the counter and they didn't see me
[13:06] Oracle: a true phantom thief <(˘ ˘ ˘)>
[13:06] Oracle: sorry continue
[13:07] Joker: so uh, i think those two guys are yakuza, and they’re probably after iwai. i don’t know the details but they seem to want to tie up loose ends and get rid of him
[13:07] Skull: shit, ain’t that bad?
[13:07] Panther: Iwai-san is an ex-yakuza, right?
[13:08] Joker: yep. he has been in a similar situation before and we had to change someone’s heart, remember
[13:08] Skull: kind of
[13:08] Joker: but now we don’t have access to the metaverse anymore, so i’m at a loss what to do. i don’t want iwai or his son to get in trouble again
[13:08] Panther: Have you told Iwai-san about it?
[13:09] Joker: not yet. but he looks tired and nervous. i feel like he knows
[13:09] Queen: How about contacting the police?
[13:09] Joker: i’d rather not, all things considered
[13:09] Joker: as long as i don’t have solid evidence, at least. otherwise it might backfire on iwai or me
[13:09] Skull: i assume you don’t want to cooperate with the cops regardless lol
[13:09] Joker: yeah, not really
[13:10] Panther: Mhm, it’s a shame we can’t take matters into our own hands anymore.
[13:10] Oracle: how about hiring a pi
[13:10] Skull: what the eff is a pi
[13:10] Oracle: p.i.
[13:10] Oracle: private investigator
[13:10] Oracle: basically a detective, but not directly affiliated with the police

Akira’s stomach churns at the mention of a ‘detective.’ No, this isn’t the right time to think about him. Not now.


[13:11] Joker: that’s worth a try
[13:11] Joker: thank you Futaba, i’ll look into it
[13:11] Oracle: mwehehe (•̀ᴗ•́ )و
[13:12] Queen: Keep us updated, Akira!

Akira exits the messaging app. He taps his chin, considering his options for a few moments, then opens his browser to search for private investigators in Tokyo. The top result catches his eye — a recently opened agency in Kichijoji, run by a guy called Asaka Eiji. The ratings are good, the prices seem affordable, and most importantly, there is a messenger integrated on the website, allowing Akira to reach out to the P.I. quickly and effortlessly. After being stalked by Shido’s lackeys for a long time, he is very cautious about giving out his name or phone number to strangers, so this chat box is pretty nice. He types in a fake name, then settles for an eloquent “uh hi” as his first message.
He puts his phone back in his pocket, ready to wait a while for a response — but to his surprise, his phone chimes up to show a new notification only a minute later.


[13:25] Asaka: Hello. How can I help you?
[13:25] Ren: whoa this actually works
[13:25] Asaka: If you don’t have a case for me, don’t waste my time.


Wow. Straight to the point, huh.

[13:26] Ren: Sorry. Uh, this is my first time hiring a P.I., so I’m not sure how this works, but I think a friend of mine is in trouble
[13:26] Asaka: You’ll have to be more specific than that.
[13:27] Ren: Okay so I work at an airsoft shop, and my boss (the friend I mentioned) has some past with the Yakuza
[13:27] Ren: uhm. this is confidential, right
[13:27] Asaka: Go ahead.
[13:28] Ren: So today I overheard two customers planning his murder. I guess they’re Yakuza too and they don’t like that he quit on them
[13:29] Asaka: And you don’t want to take this case to the police because your friend has a past as a Yakuza.
[13:29] Ren: correct
[13:29] Ren: and also I don’t really like the police
[13:29] Asaka: I see.
[13:30] Asaka: I will take the case. Please come see me at my agency later today so we can talk about the specifics.
[13:30] Ren: Okay. My shift ends at 5, so I can come see you at around half past 5?
[13:31] Asaka: That works for me.
[13:31] Asaka: In the meantime send me all the information you have on our targets. I will do a background check on them.

Akira sends him the name he saw on the ID earlier. Even if it turns out to be a fake name, it may lead somewhere. 

[13:35] Asaka: Thank you. I will look into it. See you later.

Alright then. That’s taken care of. 

The Phantom Thieves (retired)

[13:36] Joker: meeting with a p.i. later today, a guy called asaka eiji, wish me luck

He pockets his phone.

Unfortunately, he still has to kill over three hours until he can go visit the agency. The store is still empty; the rainy weather seems to be deterring people from going shopping today. Akira doesn’t really have anything better to do, so he fishes the phone out of his pocket again with a sigh.

He might as well check some of the reviews left on Asaka’s Google page while he’s waiting.

★★★★★

(Anonymous)
Great service. The agency solved a theft case within hours.

Well, that sounds promising.

★★

(Anonymous)

Not a bad agency, but the investigator is very rude. Whenever I asked him a question, he called me a ‘useless imbecile.’ He needs to work on how to treat his customers.

Akira can’t stifle a giggle. This one makes him think of a certain other detective… wait, dangerous topic. Akira needs to be alert today, and he can not afford to spiral into the thoughts and regrets he has about his ex-rival. 

★★★★

(Anonymous)
OK service. A little expensive.

★★★★★

(Anonymous)
The investigator is hot AF. Can anyone tell me if he’s single?

The previous giggle turns into a full-blown laughter at the person shooting their shot in the review section on Google.  Well, Ann did tell him to start going on dates again, so maybe he should ask out the hot investigator when they’re done with the case.

Akira checks the Thieves’ group chat — a few of his friends have responded with Thumbs Up-Emojis, but the chat is otherwise quiet — and tugs on one of his black curls. Nothing to do here.

He could bother the P.I. a little. 

[13:50] Ren: Are you single
[13:51] Asaka: …excuse me?
[13:51] Ren: Asking for someone on google reviews
[13:51] Ren: They also say you’re hot
[13:52] Asaka: I’m aware of the reviews on Google, thank you.
[13:53] Ren: You didn’t answer the question
[13:54] Asaka: Stop messaging me. We already agreed to meet in person later.
[13:54] Asaka: And unfortunately I am not looking for a romantic partner.
[13:54] Asaka : One more word on this and I’m canceling the meeting.
[13:55] Ren: :(

Well, damn. Akira doesn’t want to endanger Iwai’s life just because he got bored, so he will let the P.I. do his work in peace now. Three more hours. He can do this. 

The rest of the afternoon passes surprisingly quickly. Akira settles on busying himself with rearranging shelves, tends to a few more customers, and before he knows it, the alarm he set on his phone for 5 P.M. goes off.

Akira loses no time to gather his stuff, chugs the remaining coffee from this thermos can, and closes the shop for today. When he leaves the building, he finds that the rain has finally stopped and a few rays of sunshine are peeking through the clouds. The air smells fresh and like spring, and Akira inhales deeply. He’s weirdly looking forward to meeting the P.I. — it feels a lot like gaining a new confidant back in the day.

Just when he sticks the key into the lock, he suddenly hears a familiar voice behind him. 

“I finally got a hold of him. I told him to come to the location we agreed on, or his son will pay for it.”

Akira looks over his shoulder as inconspicuously as possible, and sure enough, on the other side of the street the two men from earlier are talking to each other. He pretends to search for something in his bag and continues to eavesdrop.

“We’re heading over there right now. Keep in touch with the boss.”
The shorter of the two men nods, then follows his probably-superior as he makes his way through the crowd.

Akira bites his lip. He’s supposed to head over to the P.I., but if he interpreted the conversation just now correctly, those two men are off to go kill Iwai… right now. If Akira wants to save his confidant’s life, he has to act fast. So in the heat of the moment, he decides to weasel through the crowd himself, careful to keep his eyes on the taller of the two men.

At a crosswalk, he quickly fishes out his phone to update the P.I. on the situation.

[17:15] Ren: I’m tailing the targets right now
[17:16] Asaka: What?
[17:16] Asaka is typing…
[17:17] Asaka: That’s supposed to be my job.
[17:17] Asaka: Don’t do this. It could be dangerous.
[17:17] Ren: Sorry. I think they’re heading over to my friend right now. I need to do this.
[17:17] Asaka: Heading over… to kill him, I assume.
[17:17] Ren: Most likely 

Akira looks up from his phone. They’ve made it quite far from the hustle and bustle of the town, and the two men seem to be targeting an abandoned warehouse at the end of an old road.
He quickly checks his map and sends the address to the investigator.

[17:19] Ren: They’ve entered this building
[17:19] Ren: I’ll follow them
[17:19] Asaka: Luckily for you, I have a motorbike.
[17:19] Asaka: I’ll be there in ten minutes. 

Akira breathes a sigh of relief. If these two men actually end up attempting murder on poor Iwai, he doesn’t think he can really do anything to stop them all by himself — not without the Metaverse. 

Though, trying to get into the warehouse through one of the loose grates at the back does remind him of the good old times of infiltrating cognitive museums, banks and casinos. He’s not as light on his feet anymore as he used to be, though, so he has to do his utmost not to land on the floor with a loud crash.

Thankfully he manages a quiet infiltration, and he has a few moments to take in his surroundings. 

The warehouse is spacious; he sees rows of containers and what appear to be empty shelves, decorated by an alarming amount of cobwebs. Ew. 

The lights are off, but the ceiling is littered with little gaps and cracks that let some light of the slowly setting sun seep in.
He assumes the warehouse hasn’t been in use in a long time, except for whatever shady business Iwai’s past comrades have going on. Speaking of which, the two men are standing near the front door — the taller one keeping his arms crossed, the shorter one holding a revolver — and appear to be waiting. Presumably for Iwai. Akira thinks they’re already past the negotiation stage, and are just looking to get rid of his confidant quickly. He can hear the sound of them talking, but they’re too far to make out any exact words, so he decides to get a little closer — sneaking through the warehouse hidden in the shadows of containers and shelves, channeling Joker to the best of his abilities as to not make any sound that could alert the two Yakuza.

Unfortunately, this place is dusty. And the dust tickles his nose.

Before Akira can do as much as realize what’s about to happen, he sneezes.

He slams his hand over his mouth in terror and ducks behind one of the shelves, but it’s a futile effort; one of the Yakuza shouts a rough “Who’s there?” and Akira immediately hears two sets of footsteps coming in his direction.

Sweat drops forming on his forehead, he glances down at his phone, but there have been no new messages from the P.I. since the last one.

Please, hot private investigator on a motorbike, do something.

Unfortunately, he has no way of knowing for sure when or if the investigator will show up, so he has to get out of this predicament himself. 

The Yakuza aren’t aware of his exact location by the looks of it — at least they’re still going from container to container, pointing their flashlight everywhere an intruder could possibly hide — and their backs are also turned towards the front door. In other words, Akira just has to wait for the right moment to make his grand escape. 

He scans the room, mapping out an escape route in his mind, and after making sure the two men are facing away from him, he dashes forward. 

He runs as quickly as his feet carry him, passing containers, shelves, only a few meters separating him from the front door. He hears the shouts of the Yakuza behind him as they finally spot him — but they won’t be fast enough to shoot, Akira has already reached the door, he yanks down the handle, pushes open the door—

And comes face to face with a ghost. 

A mixture of emotions washes over him — shock, grief, confusion, excitement, anger — as he meets maroon eyes that are slowly widening in horror.

Akira doesn’t even need to see the long caramel hair tied back into a ponytail, nor the black leather gloves adorning his thin hands. Those cunning, sparkling eyes that he used to get lost in during chess matches, bathhouse visits and Metaverse duels all those years ago are enough to recognize him.


“Akechi—”

Then, a gunshot rings through the warehouse.

Chapter Text

Akira’s brain has barely registered the gunshot when he finds himself on the floor.

He feels a heavy weight on top of himself that he quickly identifies as a person, and a thousand thoughts race through his head at once.

Has he been shot? He must have been shot. No, he doesn’t feel any pain. Did the Yakuza miss? Akechi is alive. There’s a person lying on top of him. Oh god, Akechi is alive. That’s Akechi lying on top of him. Did Akechi tackle him to the ground? What is Akechi doing here to begin with? He called a P.I., and Akechi arrived.

Akechi is a hot private investigator on a motorbike?

Akechi is alive!?

“Ugh…”
Akira’s train of thought is interrupted by the man on top of him — Akechi — groaning and cursing under his breath, clutching his left shoulder that hovers over Akira’s head. Something is dripping onto Akira’s cheek, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s deep red blood trickling out of a wound on Akechi’s shoulder directly onto Akira’s face.

Oh.

Oh. 

The Yakuza must have shot at him, and had Akechi not shoved him to the floor and literally taken a bullet for him in the process, Akira might have been bleeding out right now.

And also, Akechi is alive.  

What the fuck?

Before he can even attempt to voice any of his thoughts, he’s dragged back into the present by the weight on top of him disappearing, followed by the sounds of several more gunshots right above him. He hears one of the Yakuza groaning in pain — were the gunshots Akechi’s? — and a second later there’s a hand under his arm, hoisting him into an upright position again. 

“Hurry the fuck up and get out of here, Kurusu,” Akechi hisses at him, baring his fangs and shoving him hard in the direction of the front door. 

Another pained whine escapes his lips as he clutches his shoulder again, and it’s enough to break Akira out of his trance.

“You’re injured. I’m not leaving you behind,” he grits out, barely registering how strained his voice sounds. 

“Oh great,” Akechi seethes, “that’s just what I needed here. An idiot with a savior complex. Do me a favor, Joker, and don’t insist on being the hero who saves the day for once.”

Akira ignores his outburst and finally takes a moment to observe the scene around him.

The taller one of the Yakuza is on the ground, whimpering in pain as he clutches his heavily bleeding arm. The shorter one has his gun pointed at Akechi, and Akechi is pointing his own gun at him in return, and oh god, Akechi is there, solid and real and alive.

He’s grown a bit taller since Akira last saw him, and his hair has gotten longer — long enough to put in a high ponytail — but otherwise he hasn’t changed much. He’s wearing black slacks, a black turtleneck, and a trench coat that screams ‘I’m a detective and I know what I’m doing.’

His shoulder is still bleeding, though, and Akira knows the armed Yakuza has the upper hand here. The scene reminds him a little too much of the one he saw over five years ago on a cognitive ship; it makes a wave of nausea roll over him.

“Go,” Akechi hisses again, and Akira decides on a plan in a split second. He crosses the last meter to the front door, hearing Akechi breathe a sigh of relief, and carefully steps outside, keeping his eyes on the armed Yakuza the whole time. 

The moment he’s outside, however, he breaks into a sprint — he has to get to the back of the warehouse quickly.

He will not let Akechi alone at gunpoint again.

Out of breath, he arrives at the same grating he used earlier to sneak inside the warehouse, and squeezes through it once again. A few seconds later he’s back inside the warehouse, hidden behind shelves and containers, and quickly realizes Akechi and the Yakuza haven’t moved from their spots, still aiming their guns at each other, neither one of them taking their eyes off the other. Perfect.

Akira looks around in search of something he can use for his plan, and sure enough, there are a few pipes leaning against one of the containers. He takes off his shoes to muffle the sound of his footsteps better, grabs one of the pipes, then stalks back towards the front door, carefully but quickly, hidden in the shadows of the containers.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he hears the armed Yakuza say as he gets closer to the pair. “Drop your gun, or you will regret this.”

“Yeah, sure,” Akechi snarls, but Akira can hear the faintest bit of wavering in his voice. His back is facing the front door, and he’s making tiny steps backwards to close the distance, ready to make a quick escape if necessary. 

Only a single shelf is separating Akira from the pair now, and it doesn’t take long for Akechi to spot him creeping up on them. His expression doesn’t betray it, though, his eyebrow only twitching a little before his eyes shoot back to the Yakuza who continues his ramble. 

“I’m serious. I don’t know if you’re aware that—”

The man doesn’t get to continue, a loud thud echoing through the warehouse as Akira whacks him over the head with the pipe in one swift movement.
The man goes down, the other stays on the ground weeping in pain, neither attempting further attacks. And so Akira twirls the pipe in his hand like Joker used to do with his dagger, and shoots Akechi a lopsided grin.

“Ever the show-off,” Akechi grumbles, wasting no time to get out a pair of handcuffs and immobilizing the two barely conscious men on the ground by cuffing their ankles together. He pockets the gun the shorter man dropped and searches both for any other weapons they may be hiding.

“Is he okay? I hope this doesn’t get me another assault charge,” Akira mutters, confidence leaving his body the moment the adrenaline wears off.

“He should be. And don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. That is, if you’re smart enough to leave the crime scene in time.”
Akechi gets out his phone and continues, “I’m calling Sae. And the police.”

So Sae knows about Akechi’s survival. Interesting.


“Don’t forget an ambulance, while you’re at it,” Akira says, pointing at the growing pool of blood forming beneath Akechi’s left arm. He seems indifferent to the pain, but the wound doesn’t look pretty.

“Sure,” Akechi mumbles, “whatever makes you happy, Kurusu. Go now.”

Akira hesitates a few more moments, shifting from one foot to the other, then slightly tugs at Akechi’s sleeve, earning himself an annoyed glance from the detective.

“Hey. You won’t disappear on me again, will you?”

A moment of silence passes between them, and Akechi brings up a hand to his chin, as if to carefully wager his options. 

“No,” he finally says, “I would prefer not having to forge a new identity for myself again. Besides, you haven’t paid me for my services yet.” 

A slight smirk appears on his face and Akira rolls his eyes, unable to suppress a grin as well. What an asshole.

He missed him so much.

“Okay then,” Akira replies simply, waving Akechi goodbye as he approaches the door.

He halts for a moment, taking a glance back at Akechi, who is dialing a number into his phone without even granting Akira another look.  “See you soon,” he adds, before finally leaving.

This is alright. He has questions for Akechi, of course he does, but he doesn’t need answers right now. What matters is that his former rival is alive and fine. 

They have all the time in the world now.

His heart feeling lighter than it has in a long time, Akira makes his way back from the warehouse to the nearest train station. He nearly bumps into Iwai when cutting a sharp corner, and — oh, right, he almost forgot what he came here for. 

“Hey. You don’t need to worry about those two thugs anymore,” he beams at Iwai and is met with an incredulous stare. “They called you over to that warehouse, right? They’re dealt with. It’s water under the bridge.”

Iwai’s face contorts even further in confusion. “How do you— I mean, why do you— what?”

Akira just laughs at him. “Let’s go grab something to eat. I’ll fill you in on the details.”

Iwai hesitates a few moments, eyeing him up and down, then finally breaks out into a wry smile.

“Don’t you want to put on some shoes first?”

A few hours later, Akira is back in Leblanc, sitting on his mattress, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes. Every muscle in his body aches — he really got out of shape after the disappearance of the Metaverse, huh?
A vaguely Morgana-shaped loaf is snoring next to him, content about his earlier video chat with ‘Lady Ann’ and belly filled with fatty tuna. 

Akira decides it’s a good time to update the group chat on the events of today, but as soon as he opens the chat, he frowns in confusion at the conversation he has missed.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)

[22:05] Noir: And that’s why you should not ingest the insides of a bowling ball
[22:06] Fox: That was very insightful, Haru. Thank you very much.
[22:06] Oracle: forbidden ice cream
[22:09] Joker: hi guys
[22:09] Oracle: the lost son returns!
[22:09] Skull: brooo!
[22:10] Queen: I was starting to get worried. Any news on your case?
[22:10] Joker: yep. it’s dealt with. the p.i. saved the day
[22:10] Queen: He really dealt with a bunch of Yakuza?
[22:10] Joker: amazing right
[22:11] Joker: it was pretty exhilarating, felt like the good old metaverse times
[22:11] Noir: You have to tell us all the details next time we meet!
[22:11] Skull: bro did you replace us with some pi dude
[22:11] Skull: wait for us next time
[22:11] Joker: will do

A moment later, a separate notification chimes up, and Akira finds that Ann directly messaged him outside the group chat.

Takamaki Ann

[22:12] Ann: I looked that P.I. up on Google
[22:12] Ann: Is he as hot as the reviews imply
[22:12] Ann: Are you gonna ask him out

Akira has to laugh out loud. Of course Ann would ask him that. He appreciates her asking these questions outside the group chat, though — this part of him isn’t something he’s ready to discuss with the others. Ann is an exception, as they are the same in that regard. She understands.

[22:13] Akira: he’s pretty hot not gonna lie
[22:13] Akira: though there are some difficulties in asking him out
[22:13] Ann: Aw, why?

He starts chewing on his lip. Telling the other Phantom Thieves about Akechi’s survival doesn’t feel right; they do deserve to know, but he wants to have a proper conversation with Akechi first. However, maybe Ann can be an exception again — maybe this can be another secret for them to share.

[22:14] Akira: uhm please don’t tell the others about this yet but
[22:14] Ann: ?
[22:14] Akira: the p.i.
[22:14] Akira: uh. it’s akechi
[22:14] Takamaki Ann is typing…
[22:15] Takamaki Ann is typing…
[22:16] Ann: Akechi??
[22:16] Ann: You mean. Akechi Goro??
[22:16] Ann: He’s alive???
[22:16] Akira: apparently yes
[22:16] Ann: Oh Akira, I’m so happy!!

Warmth blooms in Akira’s chest at her last message. Ann understands, of course she does. Before he can send her a reply, he hears a scandalized gasp to his right. 

“Akechi is alive!?” Morgana screeches. Whoops. Akira didn’t notice him waking up and peeking at his phone screen. 

“Yeah. I met him today”, Akira says, texting Ann a quick ‘brb, morgana woke up.’

“He’s a private investigator now? Why didn’t he say anything? Is he planning something!?” Morgana nearly stumbles over his words, staring at Akira flabbergasted.

“I don’t think he’s planning anything. It was a chance meeting. I think he would’ve preferred if I never found out about his survival,” Akira sighs, something twisting in his gut. 

“But I don’t know. I could barely talk to him, so don’t tell the others yet,” he continues, scratching Morgana’s chin, and the cat’s ears droop in response.

“You’ll have to tell them eventually, Joker,” he replies, and is met with a reassuring smile.

“I will. For now, it can be a secret between you and Ann.”

At that, Morgana’s ears perk up again.

“If you say so,” he replies, tail flicking back and forth, “but you know, I’m happy. I mean, it’s always complicated with Akechi, but it’s good that he’s alive. You really missed him after all, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did,” Akira smiles.

“Let me know when you go see him again. I wanna talk to him too,” Morgana yawns and lies down next to him again.

Akira just nods and turns his attention back towards his phone.

[22:19] Akira: i still need to process everything, but yeah
[22:19] Akira: i’m happy
[22:19] Akira: incredibly
[22:20] Akira: kind of angry too that he let me believe he’s dead, but he probably had his reasons
[22:20] Akira: i’ll ask him later
[22:20] Akira: we were kinda too busy fighting two yakuza to catch up
[22:21] Ann: Same old Joker and Crow
[22:21] Ann: We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t run off again
[22:21] Ann: I’m so happy for you, Akira
[22:22] Ann: Obviously I’m happy for Akechi too, after all that happened I really didn’t want him to die
[22:23] Ann: And I would definitely like a second chance with him
[22:23] Ann: But mostly I was worried about you
[22:23] Ann: I know how hard this was for you
[22:24] Akira: yeah
[22:24] Akira: thank you ann, love you
[22:25] Ann: love you too Aki <3
[22:25] Ann: I need to leave for a shoot now, but you better keep me updated!!
[22:26] Akira: of course. good luck for the shoot ദ്ദി(֊⎚-⎚)

Right, timezones.

Ann currently being in New York, at the other side of the globe, wasn’t always easy; Akira found himself missing the face-to-face chats with his friend a lot. He’ll have to ask her to video chat again too.

Akira glances to his right — Morgana seems to have drifted off to sleep again. Akira’s body yearns for some well-deserved rest too, it really does, but his mind refuses to calm down; a minute later he finds himself back on the website of private investigator Asaka Eiji, copying the phone number and adding it to his contacts. Turning his phone on and off repeatedly, he contemplates whether or not to reach out right now, and in the end temptation wins.

Akechi Goro

[22:30] Akira: hey
[22:30] Akira: this is akira
[22:31] Akira: wasn’t sure if you had my phone number saved so here you go
[22:31] Akira: is your shoulder alright?

He waits, staring at his screen intensely as if that makes Akechi check his phone faster, and a few minutes later his messages become marked as Read. He tries to be patient, waiting for those little dots that would signal the other person is typing to pop up, but they don’t, and eventually Akira turns his phone off with a sigh. 

It’s only an hour later, after Akira did some chores downstairs, brushed his teeth and settled back into bed, that the sound of an incoming notification chimes up.

It’s a single message from — sure enough — Akechi, no greeting nor response to Akira’s question, but instead an address and room number. Akira frowns, typing the address into Google and coming up with a hospital in Musashino.

So he did get his injury treated. Good. 

I’ll come visit you tomorrow at noon, he types in response, then turns off his phone for good. 

Hopefully he can catch some sleep, and tomorrow get some answers to all those questions that are burning in his mind.

For the first time in a long while, his mind drifts off to sleep peacefully.

The hospital in Musashino is a large, white building, surrounded by big grass patches and trees that are in full bloom at this time of the year. It’s sunny today, birds are chirping, and Akira relishes in the fresh April air for a few moments before he enters the building, a slight spring in his step. 

In the end, he convinced Morgana to stay home — this conversation is something he wants to have with Akechi alone. Maybe, hopefully, he can get Akechi to talk to some of the other Thieves again as well, sometime in the future, but for now Akira is too worried about scaring him off again.

At the reception desk, he asks for Asaka Eiji, assuming that’s the name Akechi used to admit himself to the hospital — and sure enough, the receptionist tells him a room number; it matches with the one Akechi sent him yesterday over the phone. 

It takes him a while to find the room, somewhere up on the fifth floor at the end of an exhaustingly long hallway, and when he finally stands in front of the door, anxiety begins to bubble in his stomach.

What if Akechi didn’t want to talk to him? What if he already ran off?
What if Akira just dreamed up the whole thing?
What if Akechi is still dead? 

Well, there is only one way to find out. Taking a few deep breaths, he braces himself and finally pushes down the door handle.

The first thing Akira realizes is that Akechi has, in fact, not run off, and he doesn’t seem to be an apparition either.

Akechi Goro is sitting right there in his hospital bed, back propped against a big pillow, swiftly typing on his laptop with gloved hands. He’s wearing his hair down today, the caramel strands reaching just a little past his shoulders — a few of them tucked behind his ear as to not fall into his face — and his brows are furrowed in a concentrated manner.

Akira shutting the door behind him finally prompts him to look up, acknowledging his presence with a short nod.

“Kurusu.” 

“Hi,” Akira says, sheepishly playing with his bangs. He didn’t really think about how to start this conversation before entering the room, and now he suddenly regrets it.

Akechi slowly closes his laptop and places it on the small table next to his bed, an awkward silence settling between the two men.

“Uhm,” Akira begins, “how’s your shoulder?” 

Akechi huffs in response. “It’s okay. Catching a stray bullet wasn’t exactly on my plans for yesterday, but the damage doesn’t seem that bad. They want me to stay here for a few days for observation, but I barely feel the injury anymore.”

“Huh,” Akira says, strolling over to Akechi’s bed. “That’s good to hear.”

Before Akechi can do as much as protest, Akira lays a hand on his injured shoulder, and his face immediately contorts in pain. 

“Would be even better if you didn’t lie about it, though.”

Akechi snarls, swatting his hand away, and Akira can’t suppress a slight grin. He settles down in the chair next to Akechi’s bed, placing his bag on the floor, and eyes the detective expectantly.

“So…?” Akira unhelpfully tries to start the conversation, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Akechi just raises an eyebrow at him, and the room falls into silence again.

Akira waits in bated breath for Akechi to be the one to finally spill the beans; to tell him what happened, how he survived, why he didn’t reach out to him for five years, going as far as to forge a new identity for himself to avoid detection.

Finally, Akechi clears his throat.

“The two men from yesterday are called Taniguchi Hiroshige and Ouji Koshiro. The name you saw on the ID was indeed fake, which explains why I couldn’t find anything on them. But looking into their real names told me they’re very well acquainted with the police. Adding the misconducts that we witnessed yesterday  — blackmail, battery, illegal possession of firearms — we easily have a case against them,” he rattles off apathetically, meeting Akira’s incredulous stare head-on.

“Are we—” the words get stuck in Akira’s throat, “are we seriously doing this right now.” 

“It’s what you’re paying for,” Akechi shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

“You’re impossible,” Akira mutters, grabbing his bag to get out his trump card. Good thing he came prepared.

Akechi startles a bit when Akira chucks a large thermos can at him, but catches it gracefully. He eyes the silver container suspiciously. “And this is—?”

“The first installment,” Akira replies. “Take it or leave it.”

Akechi sends him a sour look, but eventually settles on opening the can. The unmistakable aroma of Leblanc coffee wafts through the room, and Akechi’s tense expression relaxes in an instant. He brings the can to his lips, taking a few sips, and eventually lets out a deep sigh that almost sounds content. 

“You win this round, Joker. There’s truly no coffee quite like yours. However,” He closes the lid and his expression hardens again,“if you’re just here to reminisce about the past, I’ll have to disappoint you. I have no interest in that.” 

Yeah. Figures.

A multitude of thoughts are racing through Akira’s mind — things he could tell Akechi, things he wants to tell Akechi, to make him understand it’s not just about the past, but also about the present as well as the future, but in the end he settles for one.


“I still have your glove, you know.” 

At that, Akechi’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth as if to retort something, but in the end no sound leaves his lips.

A heavy silence settles between them, but finally Akechi huffs, breaking his eye lock with Akira as he shakes his head.

“Sentimental.”

“That means you owe me a rematch,” Akira then says unhelpfully, as if Akechi wasn’t aware of the implications. 

“If you don’t want to talk about the past right now, that’s okay. Just don’t leave again. Please… stay.” He hates how small his voice sounds, his request coming out as a pathetic plea — and maybe it is just that, the plea of a 17-year-old boy who was forced to let go of the person he wished for the most on a cold, cruel February night.

His fingernails digging deep into his palms, feeling his heartbeat in his throat, he waits for a response from his former rival, bracing himself for an insult hurled at him at best, or a total rejection at worst.

“Alright,” Akechi ultimately says, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly.


What?

Akira’s eyes widen; he feels uncertain if maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. But before he can attempt to say anything, Akechi continues, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m okay with that.”

Chapter Text

Akira’s reason for taking yet another part-time job, this time at Jazz Jin, is simple: He’s hoping for it to become a way to spend more time with a certain avoidant private investigator who, as it turns out, still frequents the jazz bar.

Two weeks have passed since Akira’s chance encounter with his former rival. 

They’ve been exchanging messages daily — mostly about trivial things like food and Akira’s various part-time jobs; Akechi’s messages are usually short and clipped — but Akechi has refused any requests to meet up again, neither for a cup of coffee nor a chess rematch, as if to carefully keep Akira at an arm’s length.

It was starting to bother Akira a little. 

So when he saw that Jazz Jin was hiring, and Muhen offhandedly mentioned to him that Akechi had recently started visiting the bar again, he knew what he had to do.

Tonight’s act at the jazz bar is singing a familiar tune — Akira thinks he may have heard it a few times as a teenager, back when he frequented the bar with Akechi. He hums along to the melody as he rinses off cocktail glasses, barely noticing Muhen exiting the staff room and stepping behind the counter.

“Good job today,” the older man says, giving Akira a light pat on his shoulder.

“Could you do me a favor and check up on the gentleman over there? He’s been here for a few hours. Ask him if he wants to order another drink,” he continues, pointing at a table in a secluded corner. Akira follows his gaze, and when he spots the person Muhen is concerned about, he can’t help but laugh out loud.

It’s a familiar face, but not the one Akira was expecting to find here.

“Hi Yusuke,” he says, approaching his friend, who seems to be lost in thought and startles a bit at Akira’s sudden appearance.

“Oh. Good evening, Akira. What a surprise to see you here,” he smiles.

“Likewise,” Akira laughs, “I haven’t seen you in a while. What are you doing here?” 

Yusuke frames the singer on the jazz bar’s stage with his fingers, squinting as if to mentally take a photo of the scene. 

“I’m looking for inspiration for my newest piece,” he says, eyes not leaving the singer. “She is breathtaking in both voice and appearance. I think I’m close to finding something.” 

“Well, good luck then. Muhen said you’ve been here for a couple of hours already,” Akira says, pointing at the owner of the jazz bar behind the counter. “Would you like anything else to drink?”

“Ah, yes,” Yusuke perks up, as if he forgot the possibility of eating and drinking while brainstorming for his new piece, “I would like another Magic Fizz. The taste was quite splendid. Although, the lime that garnished the drink tasted a little weird.”

Akira freezes, blinking at his friend in confusion. “That… that’s a mock lime. It’s plastic. You’re not supposed to eat it,” he says, and is met with a surprised stare from Yusuke. “Don’t tell me you ate the whole thing.” 

“Oh. Well, I was quite hungry.” 

Akira chuckles, shaking his head, and makes a mental note to keep a closer eye on Yusuke. If he lets this continue, his poor friend will end up with food poisoning sooner rather than later.

The singer seems to be done with her performance, bowing down to the audience while a few people clap. She’s gorgeous, Akira notes — her silky, black hair is tied into a long ponytail, and she wears a sparkly, red evening gown with matching satin gloves. The moment the audience’s applause dies down, she hurries backstage, followed by her two band members, a nervous look contorting her features. It’s almost as if she suddenly grew anxious about being on stage. 

It strikes Akira as a little weird.

But before he can think any further on it, Muhen calls him back over to the counter. Akira has to busy himself with mixing drinks the rest of the evening, only looking up once to wish Yusuke a good night when he leaves the jazz bar.

It’s almost midnight when he boards the train back to Yongen-Jaya, struggling to keep his eyes open. He’s grateful that the train cart is almost empty and that he can take the ride sitting down, though it increases the risk of falling asleep before he reaches his stop — and so he decides to open his messaging app to keep himself awake. His finger taps on Akechi’s name as if on instinct, but there are no new messages from him; the last message being a photo Akira sent him of his bento from earlier, which is marked as Read. He opens the Thieves’ group chat instead, his face lighting up the moment he sees a certain name pop up in the chat box for the first time in a long while.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)


[22:15] Violet: Hello, everyone!! I’m so sorry for disappearing for so long. I’ve practiced for my upcoming competition like crazy, but I’m pretty confident in myself now! I’m still catching up on all the messages here, but I hope everyone is alright!
[22:16] Oracle: SUMI!!!!!
[22:18] Skull: yoooo!
[22:25] Panther: Hi Sumire!! It’s so nice to hear from you again!
[22:25] Panther: The competition is next week, right?
[22:40] Violet: Yes! I hope everything goes well!
[22:56] Noir: Hello, Sumire! I wish you the best of luck for the competition.
[23:42] Joker: hi sumi!
[23:44] Violet: Akira-senpai!!
[23:44] Oracle: omg please drop the honorifics already sumi
[23:44] Joker: yeah, there’s no need for them
[23:45] Violet: But you’re all my senpais!
[23:45] Skull: idk i like it
[23:45] Oracle: shut up ryuji
[23:47] Joker: guys you have to help me not fall asleep on the train home
[23:47] Oracle: what
[23:47] Oracle: it’s still so early
[23:48] Skull: wtf futaba when did you get up today
[23:48] Oracle: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
[23:49] Panther: I’m free right now, I can call you if you’d like, Akira!
[23:49] Joker: you’re the best

Just a few moments later, his phone rings, unsurprisingly displaying Takamaki Ann as the caller. 

“Hi Akira!” she exclaims cheerfully, and Akira can’t help letting out a small, tired smile. It must be around eleven in the morning for Ann right now, so it’s no wonder she’s this energetic, but he feels a little envious of her vigor.

“Hey Ann,” he says, “thanks for calling me when you’re probably busy yourself. I don’t think I could make it home awake otherwise.”

“Don’t worry. I’m at a crêpe shop right now waiting for my order, no better time to call you than now,” she laughs. “It’s so good to talk to you again. Tell me about your day!”

Akira thinks back to the events of today. There isn’t much to tell Ann about, except for—

“I met Yusuke at Jazz Jin today,” he says, grinning to himself. “Apparently he ate a whole mock lime.”

“He did— what!?” Ann yelps, and Akira can vividly picture the concern on her face. “Why was he eating a lime to begin with? Someone needs to save that guy from himself. Speaking of which…”

She clears her throat, then continues in a low voice, as if to make sure no one around her could listen in, “…are there any news on, You-know-who?”

“You’re not gonna get cursed if you say his name out loud,” Akira laughs. “But, no. No news on Akechi.” 

He hesitates a little, biting his lip.

“He’s kind of avoiding me. Last time I saw him, he said he’s okay with staying in contact, but… now I’m wondering if he regrets saying that. It doesn’t feel like he wants to see me.” 

“Oh, Akira…” Ann sighs. Then, there’s a muffled sound on the other end of the line, and Ann is speaking to someone in English. Akira assumes her crêpe must have arrived, and is proven right when Ann returns, clearly chewing on something. 

“Maybe he’s just conflicted,” she continues between bites. “A lot of stuff has happened between you two, after all, and maybe he doesn’t know how to proceed. You don’t have to immediately assume the worst.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Akira laughs. “Didn’t you have a full-blown crisis last month because Shiho didn’t message you back for two days?”

“That— hey! Don’t use that against me now!” Ann scolds him in mock offense. 

“You’re right, though,” Akira then says, smiling a little. “He’s… a complicated person, after all. Maybe he needs more time.” 

The voice of the subway announcer chimes up, letting the passengers know they’re approaching Yongen-Jaya. As Akira gets up, he becomes more and more aware of the soreness of his muscles and the heaviness of his eyelids. He can’t wait to crawl under his bedsheets the moment he gets home.

“I have to hang up now,” he tells Ann, a little glum about having to end their chat so soon, and vowing to himself to make some time for her again as soon as he can.

“Thank you for everything, Ann. Goodnight.” 

It’s a cool, windy late-April evening when Akira has his next shift at Jazz Jin, a few days after the Yusuke incident. 

His friend is not present at the jazz bar today, but the band performing is the same; Akira recognizes the elegant singer and her beautiful, deep voice immediately.

Today, she’s wearing her hair in two big, curly pigtails that remind Akira a little of Ann’s. He’s suddenly thankful that Muhen asked him not to bring Morgana to the jazz bar while he’s working here — he has a feeling Morgana would’ve been infatuated with the singer. He doesn’t know if he could bear the cat’s lovestruck ramblings for several evenings straight. 

He has been at the bar for a little over an hour — preparing drinks, rinsing cocktail glasses, occasionally chatting with a customer — when out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone in a trench coat descending the stairs to the bar.
His head whips around instantly, and he meets maroon eyes staring at him with scrutiny. 

Finally, this part-time job has paid off.

“Hey Akechi,” he says, unable to hold back a grin. The detective’s face contorts in irritation.

“Why are you here?” he asks when he walks up to the counter in lieu of a greeting.

“Why shouldn’t I be here? Just another one of my many part-time jobs,” Akira shrugs, eyeing Akechi as inconspicuously as possible. His hair is tied back into a ponytail again, but it looks messier than last time, several strands falling into the detective’s face. There are dark bags under his eyes, and Akira feels like he looks a tad thinner than when he last saw him. Even though he clearly tried to appear put-together — wearing his trench coat, turtleneck and leather gloves and carrying a black suitcase — something about his appearance tells Akira he’s had some rough nights.

“Because,” Akechi starts, a deep frown on his face, “I’ve got a case here, and I would prefer for you to not get involved in my work again.”


Oh? Another case?


Before Akira can interrogate him on the nature of said case further, Muhen appears next to them, exclaiming a warm “Akechi-kun!” as he pats the shorter man on the back. “Good to see you here again. Fix him a drink, Kurusu-kun. It’s on the house.”

He busies himself with another customer, and so Akira shoots Akechi a sly grin.
“You heard him. Sit down.” 

Akechi grumbles something under his breath, but finally settles down on one of the bar stools, propping his chin on his hand. Akira starts preparing Akechi’s drink, glancing at him every once in a while, and quickly notices Akechi’s attention is not on him. Following his gaze, he realizes the one Akechi is staring at so intently is the jazz singer. Huh.

Something twists in Akira’s gut, though he can’t quite place it.

“Uhm. She looks stunning, doesn’t she?” Akira says awkwardly, placing the cocktail glass in front of Akechi on the table and thus breaking him out of his trance. “Her voice is amazing too. Wish I could sing like that.”
It was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but instead Akechi’s face suddenly darkens as he glares at his mocktail.
Akira raises an eyebrow at him, unsure what to make of that expression, but then Akechi sighs and raises the glass to his lips.

“She’s my client,” he finally says. “Her name is Utagawa Rin. She seems to be dealing with an over-obsessive fan.”

“You mean, a stalker?” Akira asks.

Akechi nods. “She told me she has been to the police, but she feels they’re not doing enough to ensure her safety. The stalker case is leaving her sleepless, so she decided to hire a private investigator.”

“Sure the stalker is not Yusuke?” Akira smirks, thinking back to his encounter with his artist friend the other day. “He’s brainstorming for a new art piece, and he seemed really enchanted by that singer.”

“Unless Kitagawa has a habit of writing threatening letters, I really doubt it’s him,” Akechi sighs.

“There are threatening letters?”

“As of today, yes. Which is precisely why I came here. Keep an eye on the singer and discuss the letters with her later.” 

Akira nods, and the two men fall back into silence — but it’s a comfortable one this time, both watching the singer who fills the dimly lit bar with her deep voice, singing a smooth, jazzy tune. Akechi’s index finger is tapping on the counter to the slow rhythm of the percussionist.

“Having a case connected to Jazz Jin was unexpected,” he murmurs after some time. “I would like to solve it quickly. I still… quite like this place.” 

His eyes are not meeting Akira’s.

“It brings back some fond memories.”

“Yeah?” Akira smiles at him softly. “Same here.”

He thinks about their late night outings to Jazz Jin, almost six years ago, when Akechi was still playing the role of the pleasant Detective Prince. He thinks about how this place made the mask crack a little, giving Akira a glimpse of the hurt, broken boy hidden underneath. 

The real Akechi that Akira came to like so much. 

He also thinks about that one time they visited the jazz bar in a false reality. Akechi talking about how, if Akira had fallen victim to Maruki’s manipulation too, he would have ‘slapped him awake,’ and Akira grinned at him, thrilled to finally see more of the real, feral, unfiltered Akechi.

Unaware that Akechi would disappear alongside the fabricated reality mere days later.

Akira’s breath hitches at the memory, and he suddenly feels dizzy.

The jazzy song becomes white noise in his ears; an uncomfortable ringing rather than a beautiful tune. His vision is getting blurry, and before he can stop himself, he’s clinging to Akechi’s arm, fingernails digging deep into the soft fabric of his trench coat.

When he looks up, maroon eyes are staring at him in a mixture of irritation and concern.

“Akechi,” Akira breathes out, “are you real?” 

Akechi hesitates for a moment.

Slowly, carefully, he starts peeling Akira’s finger off his sleeve one after another. When he reaches his index finger, his hand lingers there for a little while.

“I’m here,” he finally says, his voice a mere whisper, before retracting his hand again.

His eyes, however, stay locked on Akira, allowing him to take in all the little details, from the little glint in his irises to the dark bags under his eyes — proof that Akechi is indeed here, that he’s real.

Akira’s vision starts clearing up again, little by little. He notices that the jazz band’s performance has ended, the crowd breaking into applause, and once again the singer loses no time to hurry backstage.

“Sorry,” Akira says, sheepishly playing with one of his black curls. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Akechi just sighs, gulping down the last bit of his drink before getting up, adjusting his gloves and grabbing his suitcase.

“I’m going to talk to my client,” he says, his eyes lingering on Akira a little, and Akira understands — it’s an offer for a distraction, an unspoken invitation.

Akira smiles, stepping in front of the counter. He explains the situation to Muhen — simplifying it by saying Akechi needed his help and asking if he can be cut from his shift — and when his boss agrees, proceeds to follow his former rival.

Sometimes they didn’t need words to communicate.

It's good to know that even now, those sometimes still exist.

“Asaka-san!” the singer — Utagawa, if Akira remembers correctly — exclaims upon opening the door to Akechi’s knocking. She bows to him deeply. “I’m so glad you are here.”

Her eyes then fall on Akira, squinting at him with a suspicious frown on her face.
“And this is…?”

Akechi’s mouth opens as if to say something, but Akira beats him to it.
“Kurusu Akira. I’m Ake— Asaka’s assistant,” he grins, pointing at the detective gaping at him in disbelief. “Nice to meet you, Utagawa-san.”

Her expression relaxes, and she nods at him. “Thank you for your help, Kurusu-san.”
She gestures for the two men to take a seat on one of the big orange sofas in the changing room, then closes the door behind them and sits down on the cushioned seat across from them, kneading her fingers together.

“Utagawa-san, maybe you can summarize the case for my… assistant right here,” Akechi says, glaring daggers at Akira for a split moment as he voices the word ‘assistant,’ before his gaze falls back to the jazz singer.

“Of course. It started around two weeks ago,” Utagawa recounts, a nervous tilt to her voice. 

“I felt like I was being… watched, every time I went home alone. I could swear that sometimes I saw a hooded figure following me out of the corner of my eye. One time when I got home, the doormat was in disarray, and so were the flower pots at my window. As if someone…” she gulps, “...was trying to get inside.” 

A chill runs down Akira’s spine; that sounds unnerving, indeed. The poor woman. 

“And today, Shima found two letters in the changing room.” 

As if on cue, two men approach the trio.

“Asaka-san, I assume?” one of them asks, and Akira recognizes him as the guitarist of the jazz band. His hair is bleached, black roots just starting to shine through blonde hair, and he's wearing a black button-up shirt with rolled up sleeves and jeans. He has a lip piercing, Akira notices, when he shoots them a warm smile.

“I’m Shima. Rin’s— I mean, Utagawa’s colleague. I found these backstage today,” he says, placing two envelopes on the table in front of them. 

The other man — the drummer of the band, a lanky guy with chin-long, jet-black hair — introduces himself as Okubo, and thanks Akechi for showing up here.

“This stuff is insane,” he says, pointing at the letters on the table. “I’m really worried about Utagawa.”

Akechi finally opens the envelopes to examine the letters; Akira leans over his shoulder to take a glance at them.

Both letters are written in red ink — hopefully it’s red ink and not blood, Akira’s brain helpfully contributes — and the messages are, indeed, a little disturbing.

I’ve been watching you, one of them reads.

Then the other, I want your body, I dream of it at night.

Akechi stares at the two letters intently, seemingly memorizing all the little details from ink splatters to small bends in the paper, then hands them over to Akira, who proceeds to do the same. 

Something strikes him as odd.

He reads the letters, once, twice, a third time, and his brows furrow deeper and deeper.

“Uhm,” he finally says, successfully getting Akechi’s attention on him. “I’m pretty sure that is Yusuke’s handwriting.”

Akechi’s eyes widen at that, but before he can retort anything, Akira is getting out his phone in search of a certain photo on his camera roll — the birthday card Yusuke sent him for his last birthday.

“Look at this,” he says, handing Akechi both his phone and the letters. “Yusuke’s handwriting has a couple of unique quirks, and they all match. I have no idea why, but I think he did write those letters.”

Akechi processes the sight before him with a frown and finally looks up at Akira again, surprise painting his features.

“…You’re right. I do agree with you.”

Utagawa looks between the two men in confusion, fidgeting with her satin gloves.

“Uhm, may I ask…? Who is that Yusuke?” she anxiously addresses Akira. 

“He’s my friend,” Akira replies, turning his attention back to her. “He’s an artist and always looking for inspiration for his new pieces. He’s a little eccentric, but, uh, ultimately harmless.”

“Harmless?” she screeches, all pretenses of politeness suddenly dropped. “I don’t think someone who follows me at night and tried to break into my home can be described as harmless!” 

“I agree,” Okubo nods, “those letters don’t read to me as particularly ‘harmless’ either.”

Akira and Akechi exchange a few glances, confusion written over both of their faces.
Something doesn’t add up here.

“I will confiscate those letters,” Akechi says, folding them in half and putting them in his suitcase. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Don’t worry, Utagawa-san, I will keep you updated on my findings.”

He bows to the singer who is still sniffling, unable to regain her composure, despite Shima patting her shoulder reassuringly.

“Meet me outside, Kurusu,” Akechi murmurs as he passes Akira, shooting him a look that tells Akira he’s serious.

Akira gulps.

He really hopes Yusuke won’t get in trouble for this.


Akira does a short bow to the singer and her two band members as well, then follows Akechi, going up the stairs leading out of the jazz bar into the cool evening air. 

The detective inhales deeply, then breathes out with a sigh, leaning against the walls of the jazz bar, and brings up a hand to his chin. Akira just watches him, shifting from one foot to the other, not wanting to interrupt whatever train of thought Akechi currently has going on. 

“Call Kitagawa,” Akechi finally says, turning towards Akira. “And put him on speaker.”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Akira hums, looking for Yusuke in the contact list of his phone and pressing the Call button as Akechi frowns at him.

“I’m a private investigator, not a—” 

“You’re a nerd,” Akira interrupts him with a slight smirk, relishing in the offended look Akechi shoots at him. Thankfully, the call connects before Akechi can make up his mind and strangle Akira in the middle of Kichijoji.

“Hi Yusuke. It’s Akira,” Akira greets his friend, relieved that he answered his phone immediately. Getting a hold of Yusuke isn’t always easy these days. 

“Oh! Good evening, Akira,” Yusuke says. “You called at just the right time. The concept for my new painting is almost finalized in my mind, and I would like to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Sorry, Yusuke, that will have to wait a little,” Akira tells him, chewing on his lip. “This is important. Did you by any chance send two letters to that singer at the jazz bar?”

“Huh,” Yusuke replies, a hint of surprise in his voice, “why, yes, I did. Is anything the matter?”

Before Akira can reply, Akechi suddenly grabs the phone out of Akira’s hand, raising it to his own face.

“Can you recall what exactly you wrote?” he asks sternly, and Akira raises an eyebrow at him — both for the weird question, unsure where Akechi is going with this, and for the fact that Akechi has just randomly revealed his survival to Yusuke out of his own volition.

The line goes silent for a while.

Then, Akira hears Yusuke clearing his throat. “Is… is that you, Akechi-kun?”

“Answer the damn question, Kitagawa,” Akechi growls in response, and Akira snatches the phone out of his hand again.

“I’ll tell you everything later, Yusuke. For now, please just answer the question,” Akira pleads.

“Hm. Very well,” Yusuke replies. 

“I did send her two letters. The first one said, uhm…” he pauses for a bit, seemingly trying to recollect the contents of his letters, ‘I’ve been watching you. The sound of your voice has enchanted me. I would like for us to collaborate. Please reach out to me.’”

Akechi shoots Akira a flabbergasted look, but before he can say anything, Yusuke continues, “Then I noticed I forgot to include a way of contacting me, so I sent her my phone number in a second letter. And I think I wrote, ‘My apologies, I have been a little hasty. I’m an artist, and I’m brainstorming for a new piece. I want your body, I dream of it at night. If you would like to be my muse, please call me.’”

“How did you deliver these letters to her?” Akechi then asks, not interrogating Yusuke on the questionable contents of the letters further.

“I put them in her mailbox,” Yusuke says matter-of-factly. “I wanted to deposit them at Jazz Jin, but the backstage rooms were locked. So I followed her home one time, and put the letters in her mailbox instead.”

“Oh, Yusuke,” Akira sighs. “Why didn’t you just hand them over to her in person?”

“I…” Yusuke starts hesitantly, seemingly looking for the right words, “I thought that would scare her off.” 

“I think what you ended up doing scared her even more,” Akira says, stealing a glance at Akechi. He seems to be processing all the information that was just presented to him, looking deeply lost in thought.

“Alright. I think I got everything I needed to know. Thank you for your time, Kitagawa,” he finally says, gesturing for Akira to hang up the call.

“Yusuke, you can stop by at Leblanc, if you want,” Akira says quickly. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll prepare you some curry, if you want.”

“I would like that very much. Thank you, Akira. See you later,” Yusuke says, sounding a bit absent-minded. Akira can’t blame him. His friend probably didn’t expect his well-intentioned, albeit weird, actions to have consequences like this.

When Akira disconnects the call and looks up, he finds Akechi’s eyes on him.

“Well then, dear Watson,” he starts, “summarize your findings to me.”

“Uhm,” Akira says, scratching the back of his neck. “Yusuke did indeed write letters to the singer, but the ones in your suitcase are just incomplete pieces of them. He also put them in her mailbox, but they were found in the changing room.” 

“Exactly. Good catch,” Akechi says, bringing a hand up to his chin, a satisfied smirk blooming on his face. 

“So, what does this mean, then?” Akira asks, a bit at a loss. 

“It means there is likely a second culprit who is using Kitagawa as a scapegoat. I can't say for sure who it is, though. I’ll have to go back to my office and review the previous evidence,” Akechi replies. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got something. You’ve been a helpful assistant today, Watson.”

It almost sounds like sarcasm, but Akira can’t help but smile regardless. 

“I’ll see you soon, then. Speaking of which…” He fidgets with his bangs a little. “Wanna come to Leblanc tomorrow? ”

Akechi furrows his brows, his previous smirk dying on his face, and doesn’t immediately respond.

Damn. Akira hoped that partnering up today would have closed the bridge between them, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“I can make you coffee and curry,” Akira offers, a little apprehensive. “You’ve gotten thinner since I last saw you. Gotta make sure you eat properly.”

“I don’t see how that’s your problem,” Akechi says, raising an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to act like some doting housewife.”

“Househusband,” Akira corrects him with a smirk, and earns himself a deadly glare. “But seriously, consider it. I’m on my own tomorrow. Sojiro’s not there, and Futaba doesn’t have Leblanc bugged anymore either, if you’re concerned about having to face either of them,” he continues. “Morgana will probably be there, though, in case that’s enough to scare you off.”

“Fuck you, Kurusu,” Akechi grumbles. “I’m not gonna hide from a cat. I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, then.”

Akira flashes his former rival a sly grin before waving him goodbye, walking in the direction of the train station.

He can swear he feels Akechi’s eyes on his back all the way until he rounds a corner.

Chapter Text

The smell of burnt curry wafts through the room, mixing with the ever-present coffee aroma at the café, creating an entirely new, unpleasant scent. 

It’s almost pungent enough to wake Akira from his near-drowse. Almost.

It got pretty late last night; Akira prepared a large pot of curry for Yusuke to make sure he wouldn’t have to resort to eating mock limes again anytime soon. He filled him in on the stalker case, assured him that they would find out how his letters ended up in the changing room, and asked him to please not send the singer any more notes that could be as awfully misinterpreted as the previous ones.

They also talked about Akechi.

Yusuke was surprised to hear about Akechi’s survival, but ultimately seemed happy about it. After all, he didn’t have any personal grudges against Akechi, but still understood Akira’s hesitance to tell the rest of the Thieves about it.

“I will keep it a secret for as long as you want me to,” he told Akira, stirring his curry, “but I do think we should tell the others soon. They deserve to know, no matter how they feel about Akechi-kun.”
Akira knew he was right — they couldn’t keep this from the others forever. But something in his stomach churned at the thought of Haru and Futaba learning about Akechi’s survival, and possibly rejecting him. They had all worked together, back in the false reality, but he wasn’t sure if his friends would be willing to keep the truce now that they had all returned to their normal lives, considering everything that Akechi had done.  

Even long after Yusuke had left the café, Akira was unable to fall asleep.

So here he is now, burning one pot of curry after another to the crisp. His eyelids are feeling glued together, and Sojiro can’t even help him out, because Sojiro’s not here today, and Akira wants to curse himself, but he also kind of just wants to go back to sleep.

The only customer today — one of Sojiro’s regulars — pinches his nose at the burnt smell and mutters something under his breath that sounds like a bunch of curses.

Then, he’s suddenly gone, and Akira realizes he didn’t even notice him leaving in his sleep-deprivation.

He sighs deeply, flipping the sign at the door to Closed before any new customers can come in , and collapses face-down at one of the booths.

“Joker…” Morgana’s voice chimes up next to him, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head from the table. “Go to sleep. You’re not getting anything done at this rate,” his friend tells him, slightly nudging his arm.

“Can’t,” Akira mutters, still refusing to look up. “Akechi’s coming in ten minutes. If I cancel on him now, he’ll probably never agree to come here again.”

“Neither will he if you fall asleep on him!” Morgana whines, nudging his arm with a little more force now. 

Akira groans, manifesting all his willpower to push himself off the table again. Traversing the dozens of floors of Mementos was easier than this, he thinks to himself, dragging his feet over to the counter, and pours himself another large cup of coffee, hoping this one will be enough to snap him out of his drowse.

Sipping at his coffee, he stares at the pot of burnt curry as if that would magically turn it edible. He sighs, finally making up his mind to throw it out, and starts one final attempt to present Akechi a meal that wouldn’t make him second-guess his decision to hang out with Akira again.

The freshly admitted caffeine finally seems to be doing its job, and twenty minutes later, a pleasant aroma fills the café.

“Good job, Joker,” Morgana says, watching Akira stir his newly prepared curry in the pot. “I think this one turned out great. At least it’s not burnt to the crisp.”

Akira grins, “It helped to imagine Akechi killing me for feeding him inedible curry. Would be funny. Like the takoyaki incident, except this time he doesn’t have to hold back.”

Morgana scrunches up his nose a little and sticks his tongue out at him. “I’ll never get what you two have going on,” he mutters under his breath. 

Akira just smiles, scrubbing at the counter to clean off some curry stains from his previous attempts. His gaze falls on the clock on the wall.

Ten minutes past one. Weird.

Akechi sent him a single text message last night, way past midnight, informing Akira that he would come to Leblanc at one in the afternoon, and Akira knows him to be someone who tends to be punctual.

He decides to wait a little longer — the steady ticking of the clock not doing anything to ease his nerves — until the clock shows quarter past one, then fishes out his phone from his pocket and opens his messaging app to shoot Akechi a quick ‘Hey, when are you coming?’

Akechi is usually quick to read his messages — even if he doesn’t reply — so Akira waits for the little Read receipt to pop up, but it doesn’t.

Another ten minutes go by. Akira tries to busy himself with something — putting on new coffee, cleaning the dishes, scrubbing one particular stain on the counter for several minutes — but anxiety is bubbling in his stomach, and it becomes harder and harder to ignore.

When the clock shows half past one, he decides to call Akechi.

The phone beeps into his ear, trying to connect the call, and with each beep, Akira feels his heart sink further. Something isn’t right here.

He glances to his left and spots Morgana, ears drooped and anxiously staring at Akira.

“Maybe he changed his mind,” Morgana says cautiously.

Akira shakes his head. “He’s not the kind of person to go back on his word. Not without saying anything.“

“Or maybe something important got in his way. An urgent case, or something,” Morgana suggests, and Akira nervously starts chewing on his lip. 

It’s a possibility, one that he prefers over the prospect of something serious having happened to Akechi, but he can't help but worry about him regardless. Last time he saw him, it didn't look like he was eating nor sleeping properly, so getting involved in yet another urgent case would mean bad news for his health.

“I’m gonna go visit him,” he decides, scooping some curry into a container and pouring coffee into a large thermos can, then stuffing both into his bag. 

He can still make sure Akechi gets the nutrients his body requires, and he will, no matter what insults get thrown at him.

“In that case, I’ll join you!” Morgana exclaims without missing a beat, hopping into Akira’s bag in one swift movement. “Gotta make sure he’s not planning anything.”

Akira smiles at Morgana and hoists his bag, downing the last drops of his coffee before leaving the shop. 

Obviously, he doesn’t have Akechi’s current address, but maybe he can find him at his office in Kichijoji which, as Google tells him, isn’t far from Jazz Jin. Even if he’s not there himself, maybe someone has seen him, and Akira can leave the coffee and curry at the office. 

He’s not exactly running through the streets of Kichijoji, following the directions the map on his phone is giving him — but his steps are a little hurried, a sense of urgency filling him, and he can hear Morgana complaining to him from his bag each time he takes a step that’s a little too rough.

His steps don’t slow down until his phone alerts him that he has reached his destination, and when he looks up, he finds himself in a narrow back alley in front of a gray, unassuming building. There are a couple of signs bolted to the door, one of them displaying ‘Private Investigation Agency — Asaka Eiji’ in bold letters; the office seems to be located on the second floor of the building. Akira wastes no time to enter, rushing up the stairs to the second floor, until he’s standing in front of a sturdy wooden door that supposedly leads into the private investigator’s office. 

Akira braces himself, checking his phone one last time to see if there haven’t been any new messages from Akechi, and rings the doorbell. 

He hears the ringing sound from inside the office, but then the building falls back into silence. No sound of footsteps approaching the door; nothing. 

Once again, Akira feels his heartbeat quicken in anxiety. He decides to knock a few times — putting more force into each knock — and finally calls out, “Akechi? Are you here?” 

Nothing.

He pushes down the door handle then, just to make sure, but the door is locked and doesn’t budge one bit.

Akira feels Morgana’s eyes on him and turns to meet his gaze.

“... What now?” Akira asks after a moment, scratching the back of his neck helplessly. 

“Well, you’re a Phantom Thief,” Morgana reminds him, a happy tilt to his voice, “and a thief knows no locked doors.” He stares at Akira expectantly, but when he doesn’t reply immediately, the cat’s ears droop a little. “... Unless you didn’t bring lock picks.” 

Akira sighs, gesturing to Morgana to get out of his bag before rummaging through its contents, and finally fetches a small wire from the bag.

“You did! As expected from our leader!” Morgana says joyfully, drawing circles around Akira, who crouches down in front of the door’s lock to get to work.

“Akechi’s gonna kill me,” he mutters, but he would rather evoke his rival’s wrath than find out he’s in danger and not do anything about it.

A few moments later the lock clicks open, and Akira slowly pushes open the wooden door before he stealthily sneaks into the dark office, followed by his cat who exclaims a cheerful, “Just like an infiltration!” 

He closes the door behind him and switches on the light, allowing him to fully take in the room before him. 

At a first glance, it’s tidy; he sees several shelves filled with thick, black folders, likely containing all of Akechi’s case files. In the middle of the room there’s a sofa and an armchair, accompanied by a small tea table. A work fridge stands next to a large window with closed shutters. 

At the back of the room is a desk that disrupts the put-together image of the office a little, folders and papers and pens scattered all over the surface. Akechi’s black suitcase is leaning against the chair next to the desk.

Oh, and there’s a body on the floor.

“Oh god. Shit. Fuck,” Akira curses under his breath, hastily approaching the still figure half obstructed by the desk, feeling his heartbeat stop for a moment when he spots a tangle of long, light brown hair.

“Akechi!” Morgana screeches with such an intensity that it makes Akira flinch, jumping towards the body and swatting it with his paws, but the man laying face-down on the floor stays unmoving. 

God fucking damn it.

Akira kneels down at Akechi’s side, turning him on his back — at the very least, there are no visible injuries. 

He wastes no time to check for a pulse; his hands are a little jittery, and he doesn’t find it immediately. But when he finally feels the steady throbbing in the veins of Akechi’s wrist, his entire body relaxes in an instant, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh.

Morgana notices it and eyes him cautiously. “He’s not dead, is he…?”

“No,” Akira shakes his head. “Just unconscious. Let’s move him over to the couch.”

He scoops an arm under Akechi’s legs, hesitating for a moment; he’s unsure if he can actually carry a man of his height. But when he moves to lift him up, it happens surprisingly easy — Akechi is much lighter than he thought.

Not good.

He places him on the beige sofa in the middle of the room, putting one of the soft pillows beneath his head, and watches the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“What should we do?” Morgana asks hesitantly. Akira nervously tugs at his bangs, not responding immediately, so Morgana continues, “Should we call an ambulance?”

“We may have to,” Akira mutters. Mentally, he adds calling an ambulance on Akechi to the ever-growing list of things he has done today that would make Akechi murder him if he knew, right next to burning his curry, breaking into his office, and carrying him across the room bridal-style.

He gets out his phone, but before he can type in a number to call an emergency service, he feels a slight tug to his pants near his shin, and his breath hitches.

“Don’t,” he hears a slurred, barely audible voice next to him. “I’m… I’m okay.”

“Akechi!” Morgana calls out, and in an instant Akira is by his rival’s side again, crouching down next to the sofa. 

“Hey,” he says softly, peering into maroon eyes squinting at him with scrutiny. 

Akechi blinks at him once, twice, then groans as he slowly tries to bring himself to an upright position.

“Kurusu… Why the fuck are you…” he mutters, raising a hand to his head, and rubs his temples. 

He’s swaying dangerously, but Akira knows better than to try stabilizing him — he has pushed his luck more than enough today. So instead, he grabs his bag, retrieving the thermos can and container with curry he brought, and pushes both into Akechi’s hands once he seems stable enough to keep a hold of them.

Akechi stares at him, then at the food items in his arms, then back at him, blinking a few times as if his brain needed a moment to recalibrate.

“You didn’t show up at Leblanc,” Akira finally says when the silence between them becomes unbearable. “I got a bit worried, so I decided to go check on you.”

Akechi’s stunned expression slowly turns into a scowl. “I would ask you how you got into my office, but I think I have an idea,” he says, opening the lid of the thermos can, and hesitantly starts to sip his coffee. 

Akira shrugs at him. “Well, I’m still a Phantom Thief at heart.”

“I could sue you for breaking and entering, you know.”

“But you won’t, because I couldn’t brew you coffee while in prison.” 

“Don't get too full of yourself, Kurusu,” Akechi grumbles, taking the spoon Akira enclosed with the meal and opening the container, glaring at it for a few moment as if the curry personally offended him — but when he brings a spoonful to his mouth, his expression relaxes. “… Thank you for the meal, though. I appreciate it.”

Akira watches him for a while, hands buried deep in his pockets, unsure whether to sit down next to Akechi or stay standing. 

“I’ll head off to Jazz Jin to interrogate Muhen on our case after this. You can join me, or go home, I don’t really care,” Akechi mumbles between bites.

Akira knits his brows in concern. “You’re really going to continue the investigation when you’re in that state? What even happened? Why’d you collapse?”

Akechi halts, his spoon hovering midair for a while, cogs seemingly turning in his brain as he tries to recall what happened before Akira arrived.

“I’m not sure. I was working on the case late into the night, and at one point I started to feel a little dizzy. I didn’t think it would be this bad, though.”

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?” Akira then asks, eyeing his former rival up and down.

Akechi looks caught off-guard by the question, blinking at Akira a few times before he replies, “… Two days ago.”

A deep frown forms on Akira’s face, and he crosses his arms. “Well, then you shouldn’t be surprised about randomly passing out. Should I lend you Mona to make sure you eat and sleep properly?”

“Hey!” Morgana screeches at that, jumping on Akira’s shoulder and repeatedly swatting his cheek with his soft paws. “Don’t decide that without me!” 

“Oh. Hi, Morgana,” Akechi greets the cat dryly and is met with a sharp hiss. “How nice to know you’re still around. I’ll have to respectfully decline keeping you as a pet, though.”

“I’m not a pet! Ugh, Joker, this guy makes me so angry!” Morgana grouches.

Akira shoots him a pitying smile. “You should take a stroll around the neighborhood. We’re gonna head off to Jazz Jin, anyway.” He turns his attention towards Akechi, “… Uhm, I’m coming with you. Yusuke’s really concerned about the case, so I’d like to keep him updated.”

It’s not just about Yusuke — Akira is mostly worried about letting Akechi go alone when he has just passed out from overexertion, but he doesn’t say that.

Akechi nods, scooping up the last bits of curry in the container, before rising from the couch in one swift movement and grabbing his trench coat from the coat hanger. He looks a little wobbly on his feet, but there’s a determined shine to his eyes, so Akira knows trying to talk him into resting would be a futile effort.

He puts on his leather gloves, and pockets a pen and a small notebook before opening the front door. Morgana loses no time to scurry off and Akechi quirks an eyebrow at him, then turns towards Akira.

“Let’s go, Kurusu.”

Akira shoulders his bag and follows Akechi out of his office, fidgeting with his bangs.

“You know you can call me Akira, right? I’m on a first-name basis with all my—”

“Don’t say ‘friends.’”

“—rivals.”

Akechi halts his steps for a moment, eyeing Akira irritated. 

“Pray tell, Kurusu, how many rivals do you have?”

"Don't worry, honey," Akira grins at him. "There's only you."

A pen flies through the air and whacks Akira on the head.

When Akira descends the stairs to Jazz Jin, the first thing he notices is Muhen harshly talking to a customer, a tall, lanky man who seems taken aback by the bar owner’s outburst. 

When Muhen moves a little to the side, Akira realizes that the customer is none other than Yusuke, hurrying over to Akira the moment he spots him.

“What happened?” Akira asks in lieu of a greeting, looking between his friend and the owner of the jazz bar in confusion. Behind him, he hears the clicking of Akechi’s tongue, evidently annoyed by running into Yusuke here. 

“I saw this man trying to get into the backstage rooms earlier,” Muhen explains to Akira, still glaring daggers at Yusuke. “Utagawa has already left for today, but she told me about her stalker leaving threatening notes back there, so forgive me for drawing certain conclusions here.” 

“I wasn’t trying to sneak anything in there,” Yusuke clarifies to Akira, evidently a little offended by Muhen’s accusation. “I wanted to talk to the singer directly, just like you suggested, Akira. I would still like her to be my muse, after all.”

“Priorities, Yusuke,” Akira sighs. “I’m afraid this wasn’t the right time for that. You do have a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Yusuke’s expression turns into a frown, but then his gaze falls on Akechi and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Akechi-kun. You really are alive.”

“It does seem that way,” Akechi says dryly, before turning his attention to Muhen. “I would like to talk to you about the case. Could you show me to the backstage rooms again?” 

Muhen’s expression relaxes, and he nods, gesturing for them to follow him.

Yusuke doesn’t move for a moment, appearing deeply lost in thought. “This affair elicits some quite unique emotions in me. Yes, I think I would like to turn them into a new painting. Can I go home instead?”

“No. You’re still a suspect,” Akechi deadpans, before turning around and following Muhen to the changing rooms.

Yusuke's expression falls, and for a moment he looks so small and lost that Akira can’t help but pity him.

“It’s okay. Come on, let’s get your name cleared,” Akira reassures him with a smile, slightly nudging him with his elbow, and after a moment of silence, Yusuke nods and follows Akira to catch up to the other two men. 

As they arrive in the changing room, Akira finds that Akechi wasted no time to start his interrogation on Muhen.

“Is this room usually locked? Who has access to it?”

“You need a key to open the door from the outside,” Muhen says, scratching his chin. “Normally, I’m the only one with a key. But I have a few spares, so sometimes I give them out to musicians who regularly perform at the bar. Right now, only Utagawa-san has one, aside from me.”

“That’s proof that Yusuke’s innocent, right?” Akira chimes in. “He would have no way of getting into the changing room without a key.”

“I wouldn’t call it definite proof,” Akechi says, and Muhen immediately shoots an icy cold stare at Yusuke standing behind Akira again. “There are two options we need to take into account here. One is, obviously, that Utagawa has fabricated her side of the story, but for the sake of the argument, let’s discount that possibility — which leaves only one other option for how the stalker could’ve ended up in the room.” 

He raises his index finger, and Akira leans forward in anticipation.

“Utagawa let them inside on her own volition. Which theoretically makes everyone a possible culprit, Kitagawa included. However,” he glances at Yusuke, “she hadn’t heard of a Kitagawa Yusuke when we talked to her, and given her anxious nature I find it unlikely that she’d let people she doesn’t know very well into the room.”

“I see,” Akira perks up. “In other words, we just need to ask her who she let inside, and it will significantly narrow down the list of suspects.”

Akechi nods at him. “Depositing the letters in the changing room was a fatal flaw from the culprit’s side. They may have had a particular reason for it, but we can use that to pin them down.”

He gets out his phone, wasting no time to get the final piece he needed to solve the puzzle. Akira looks over his shoulder as his gloved fingers fly over the display looking for Utagawa’s contact — but before Akechi can press the Call button, his phone suddenly rings, nearly making Akira jump out of his skin.

Iwasaki, a name Akira doesn’t recognize, appears on the phone screen, and after a short moment of hesitation, Akechi answers the call with a short, “How can I help you?”

Akira is close enough to the phone that he can hear a faint sobbing through the speaker, a voice seemingly trying to tell Akechi something, but being interrupted by hiccups over and over.

“Utagawa…” the voice finally chimes up for a brief moment, only to fall apart again with sobs.

Akira’s breath catches in his throat, waiting anxiously for them to speak again.

Finally, they utter three words. “Utagawa is dead.”

Chapter Text

Utagawa’s house is within walking distance of Jazz Jin. 

Akira feels a heavy lump in his throat as he runs to her residence alongside Akechi, who is being more quiet than usual.

They were too late. They didn’t find out the stalker’s identity in time, and it cost Utagawa her life.

It’s only when they approach the house, a single-family home detached from the hustle and bustle of Kichijoji, that Akechi faces Akira.

“Iwasaki is Utagawa’s manager,” he explains to him, voice sounding a bit hoarse. “She hired me for a case a few weeks ago, and she was the one who referred Utagawa to me. They are good friends, so I kept in touch with her concerning Utagawa’s safety.” His eyebrow twitches a little. “But as it turns out, we weren’t careful enough.” 

Akira says nothing, keeping silent as Akechi rings the doorbell to the house. He feels nauseous, and even though Akechi seems to have entered work mode again, wearing a neutral expression as he writes something down on his notebook, Akira has a suspicion that he’s not faring much better. 

He probably can’t help Akechi in his investigation in any meaningful way. But at the very least, he can be his crutch.


The door flings open to reveal a short, formally dressed woman with a black bob cut, sniffling into a tissue.

“Asaka-san,” she sobs, hiccuping a few times before she’s able to continue, “I’m so glad you’re here. Please come in.”  She gestures for the two men to follow her into the living room as she continues, “I haven’t alerted the police yet. I wanted you to see her first.”

Gulping, Akira steps into the living room.

The sight that awaits him makes his blood run cold.


Utagawa is lying on the sofa, mouth wide open and eyes rolled into her skull. Around her throat are thick red strangling marks. Her cause of death looks pretty obvious. 

Nevertheless, Akechi immediately approaches the body and starts examining it — tilting her head, turning her arms, looking for hidden injuries on her body, and eventually his attention falls on her thin hands. Akira isn’t quite sure what he’s doing studying each of her fingers, but his expression appears so concentrated that he knows better than to disturb him.

Finally, Akechi speaks up again. “There are traces of blood under her fingernails.”

Akira blinks at him a few times. “Huh?”

“That means, she was likely in a scuffle with someone,” Akechi explains. “It doesn’t look like there are any open wounds on her body. The blood belongs to someone else. Very possibly the person who strangled her and who she tried to get off her throat.”

He gets up, taking a step towards Iwasaki who is standing a bit to the side.

“Iwasaki-san, show me your forearms, please.”

Iwasaki’s eyebrows shoot up, and Akira sends a puzzled look towards Akechi, but the man’s eyes stay locked on Iwasaki. “Your forearms,” he repeats.

She slowly rolls up her sleeves, confusion written all over her face as Akechi examines her arms from all sides, before finally nodding towards her and turning his attention towards Akira again.

“Victims of strangling instinctively shoot for the assailant’s hands and arms,” he says, bringing a gloved hand up to his chin. “In other words, we are looking for someone with scratch marks on their forearms.”

“Hold on a second,” Iwasaki says, her tone getting more incredulous with each syllable. “Did you seriously just accuse me of murdering Utagawa?”

Akechi shrugs at her. “You’re the one who found the body, so you’re a suspect by default. I saw you, as Utagawa’s manager, as a possible candidate for the letter case as well.”

“Wait,” Akira interrupts him, “You’ve lost me there. What does that have to do with it?”

Akechi shoots him an irritated stare, as if he wanted to say something like ‘What, you haven’t caught up already?’ But after a moment of silence, he clears his throat and explains, “Utagawa has told me she doesn’t usually check her mailbox. Iwasaki-san, as her manager, does that for her. She could’ve easily taken Kitagawa’s letters from the mailbox, altered them, and deposited them in the changing room without drawing attention.”

Iwasaki’s face is bright red from anger, and she’s gasping for air, seemingly ready to fight Akechi on his accusation, but then he holds up his palm in front of her in an appeasing gesture.

“… That being said, the lack of scratch marks on your body clears you as a suspect, at least for now. It’s not entirely impossible that the stalker and murderer are different people, but it’s more likely they are one and the same.”

“Someone who could get into the changing room without drawing attention…” Akira muses, crossing his arms. “That means our next suspects are her two band members, right?”

Akechi nods at him. “Shima and Okubo, if I remember correctly. Iwasaki-san, do you happen to know where they are right now?” 

Iwasaki breathes in deeply, once, twice, seemingly trying to calm her nerves before she replies, voice still sounding a little agitated. “I heard from Utagawa they’ve got a gig at a bar in Shinagawa today. It’s their last performance before they leave Tokyo for a while — Utagawa said she wanted to see them off at the Shinagawa train station later. If you want to talk to them, I’d hurry up.” 

Akechi writes down the name of the bar on his notebook, then bows to Iwasaki, saying his goodbyes to her before he leaves Utagawa’s residence with hurried steps. Akira stumbles after him.

“No time to call a taxi,” Akechi mumbles under his breath. “We’re going to use my bike.”

Heavy raindrops are splashing against the asphalt when they step outside the building. The weather doesn’t seem very safe for motorbike rides, and neither does the way Akechi is still swaying from side to side, sleep-deprivation slowly catching up to him again. 

The jet-black motorbike is parked near Jazz Jin. When they approach the vehicle, Akechi suddenly freezes.

“Shit. My helmet’s at home. So is the spare.”

Oh, great. Akira sighs. He knows the lack of safety won’t deter Akechi from riding his bike. Neither will it deter himself from joining Akechi, if he’s being entirely honest. And from the knowing gaze Akechi shoots at him, accompanied by the tiniest smirk, it seems like he’s aware of that.

If they make it back in one piece, that would be nothing short of a miracle.

Akira hops onto the seat behind Akechi, and after a moment of hesitation, places his hands on Akechi’s waist.

“It’s showtime—” he attempts to tease, but is cut off by the roaring of the engine. And before he even has the chance to catch his breath, they’re already zooming through the streets of Tokyo.

The first thought racing through Akira’s mind is that Akechi is driving like he has a death wish. He’s taking impossibly sharp turns, cutting people left and right — Akira could swear he heard the faintest bit of a cackle from Akechi’s direction when he cuts in front of another motorbike — and the vehicle is sliding dangerously on the slippery wet street. 

When he speeds up to pass a truck, right before turning sharply to the right, the motorbike almost tips over to the side — and before Akira can stop himself, his grasp to Akechi turns into a death grip, both of his arms tightly wrapped around his waist. 

His chest is pressed against Akechi’s back; he feels the other man’s body tense against his, but he can’t bring himself to care. If Akechi is uncomfortable by Akira’s close proximity, he should stop driving like a lunatic — and sure enough, he seems to slow down the vehicle the slightest bit. Akira’s trust in his driving capabilities is broken, though, so he stubbornly resumes his death grip as they continue their ride through the rainy streets. 

Akira swallows. Now that he isn't fearing for his life as much, his thoughts drift to their seating arrangement. 

He’s never been this physically close to Akechi — he has never even hugged him, despite how much he wanted to on that cursed February night — and the way Akechi’s body is pressed against his is doing… something to him, too. 

He feels Akechi’s soft hair tickling his cheeks, takes in his scent, and subconsciously nuzzles a bit closer to him.

Despite the madness of this whole ride, there is no place in the world where he would rather be than right here, right now, almost as if…

…Oh.

Oh no.

It feels like something clicks in place in Akira’s mind, making all the complicated feelings he’s had towards his rival all these years suddenly make sense.

He’s in love with Akechi Goro.

What an awful time to realize that. 

And he has no time to ruminate on it, either — Akechi rounds one final corner, and then they’re in front of the bar Iwasaki told them about. Akechi parks the motorbike and wastes no time to jump off, then shakes himself once like a wet dog and stalks into the bar without even turning around to make sure Akira is following him.

Akira — dripping wet as well — hurries after him, not stopping until they’re standing inside the dimly lit bar, taking in the scenery before them. He spots Okubo and Shima instantly; it appears they’ve finished their performance, and while Okubo is talking to the bartender, Shima seems to be heading backstage.

“You go follow Shima,” Akechi tells Akira without missing a beat. “I’ll talk to Okubo.”

He heads over to the drummer standing at the bar without another word, and Akira takes a deep breath before he heads towards the backstage room.

The door to the room hangs slightly ajar, and when he peeks inside, he finds that Shima is alone, wiping some dust off his guitar before placing it inside the guitar case.
Akira knocks on the door a few times, then steps in as Shima turns around, his eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re… the assistant of that private investigator, right?” he asks, closing his guitar case.

Akira nods at him, thankful for the barrier his fake glasses are putting between himself and the suspect. His hands are buried deep into his pockets, and his eyes aren’t quite meeting the guitarist’s. “I’m Kurusu. I have a request, Shima-san.” 

His gaze falls down to Shima’s forearms. He’s wearing the sleeves of his button-up shirt down today — Akira distinctly remembers they were rolled up last time they met. 

“It’s about the investigation, I assume? How can I help you?” Shima asks, scratching his neck as he lets out a wry smile.

Akira wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, trying to summon all of Joker’s courage as he breathes in deeply. “Your forearms. I would like to see them.”

Shima’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, then his expression turns into a deep frown.

“Why?” he asks, mistrust evident in his tone. 

Akira finally meets his eyes. “Utagawa was found dead earlier today. There’s reason to believe she has injured the assailant. If you don’t have anything to hide, show me your arms.”

He watches a multitude of emotions wash over Shima’s face, shock turning into fury turning into anxiety.
The man bites his lip, then slowly, shakily, rolls up his sleeves.

Deep red scratches run from his wrists all the way up to his elbows.

“It was my cat,” he says, pursing his lips. “I didn't strangle Utagawa. Leave me alone.”

Akira shrugs at him. “I have a cat as well, so I would be inclined to believe you,” he says, watching the other man’s expression relax a little. “But it's interesting that you said you didn't strangle her. I never mentioned that." He looks over to Shima, whose eyes are slowly widening in horror. "There are traces of blood under Utagawa’s fingernails. If you want to get your name cleared, I’m sure you won’t mind letting us compare your blood to that found at the crime scene.”

Shima’s face falls, complexion turning pale within moments.

“No way. Who are you to accuse me of that shit?” he spits, suddenly putting so much venom into his voice that it almost makes Akira flinch. 

Akira takes a moment to regain his composure, then repeats, “If you don’t have anything to hide, you shouldn’t mind cooperating with us.” He pauses for a moment. “Well?”

At that, something within Shima seems to snap. 

“Fuck you, you snooping piece of shit!” he screeches, pulling out something from his pocket before he charges forward, and Akira realizes far too late that he’s holding a pocket knife. 

Akira’s breath gets caught in his throat as he stumbles backwards, falling onto the floor as he tries to dodge the attack — and then, he feels a sharp sting at his cheek.

Moments later, something warm trickles down his face. 

He has no time to pay it mind. Shima is already charging forward for his next attack, and Akira is still on the floor, scrambling to get up, but he won’t be able to dodge this attack in time, he can’t—

“Don’t fucking move.”

A sharp voice rings through the room, accompanied by a clicking noise.

When Akira looks up, the first thing he sees is the barrel of a loaded gun pointing right at Shima, who stopped in his tracks, staring wide-eyed at the person holding him at gunpoint.

Akechi. 

Akira breathes a sigh of relief, scrambling to get up and put some distance between Shima and himself.

He spots Okubo behind Akechi, gaping at the scene before him.

“What the fuck, Shima…?” he whispers, disbelief evident in his voice. “You can’t be serious. Did you… did you do all of this because Utagawa rejected you?”

Shima curls his hands into fists, and slams them into the floor hard. His forehead looks like it’s going to pop a vein. “I wanted to make that bitch pay,” he finally mutters. 

The room falls in stunned silence. Shima keeps talking, voice seething in anger, “I wanted to make her realize what she’s missing out on by turning me down. My plan was to give her a scare — follow her, try to break into her house and stuff — and then become her reliable shoulder to lean on. And when she had finally fallen in love with me, I would’ve dropped her, betrayed her, just like she betrayed me.“

Shima stops for a beat, and Akira hears sniffling. 

“The letters weren’t part of the plan, but then that weirdo artist showed up. I watched him deposit those letters into her mailbox one night, so I retrieved them out of curiosity, and when I saw the contents, I decided I could use them to freak her out and pin the blame on that weirdo. I knew Utagawa didn’t normally check her mailbox, so I pretended to find them in the backstage room instead. Had to make sure she saw them.”

The speech is over, and the room falls quiet. Akira and Akechi exchange a few glances, before Akechi’s gaze falls on the scratches on Shima’s arms.

“Why did you kill her?” he asks. When Shima doesn’t immediately respond, Akechi adds, “If you insist on denying your involvement with the murder, we will ask for an analysis of the blood on Utagawa’s fingers. Don’t assume you can get away with it.”

Shima averts his gaze. “I was going through her mailbox again today. I thought maybe that artist sent her more letters I could use. But that whore saw me and confronted me about it,” he growls. “She put two and two together and accused me of being the stalker. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she kept screaming at me, and suddenly my hands were on her throat—” His breath hitches. “Before I knew it, she was dead. I wasn’t planning to kill her, it just happened.”

“Shima…” Okubo utters, and Akira sees his lower lip trembling. “I can’t believe you’d do something like that.”

He attempts to move towards his friend, but Akechi stops him in his tracks. He then approaches Shima himself, keeping the gun aimed at him with his right hand, and with his left hand he gets out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and swiftly puts them on Shima’s wrists. Shima looks defeated, not even making an attempt to stop Akechi from handcuffing him, and averts his gaze from Okubo who keeps his eyes fixed on the other man.

Akira exhales deeply. He feels awful for Utagawa, and for Okubo too, the drummer seemingly unable to comprehend his friend’s atrocious actions. Akira gets it, no one expects their friend to suddenly turn into a killer. 

 But at the very least, the case has been solved.

Akechi approaches Akira, eyes locked on his phone. “I’ll call the police. They can take over from here. And I’ll let Iwasaki know about everything, too.” He looks up for a moment, eyes falling on Akira’s face, and his expression turns into a frown.

Then, suddenly, he brings his thumb up to Akira’s face, wiping off some of the blood on his cheek, and Akira’s breath catches in his throat.

“Get that disinfected, Kurusu,” Akechi simply says before leaving the room.

Akira can’t do anything but gawk at him.

Oh, he is so fucked.

“Ann, I think I have a crush on Akechi.”

The line goes silent for a while. Akira is anxiously drumming his fingers on his mattress, waiting in anticipation for Ann’s reply. His body is aching for some sleep, but he stayed up late on purpose, sitting on his bed staring at a wall long after he returned to Leblanc, because he really needed to talk to his friend today.

Finally, Ann’s voice chimes up. “You— you think you have a crush on— Hold on.” There are a few thuds on the other side of the line, as if she started pacing through her room, before she continues incredulously, “You’re saying that now?”

Akira frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that… I kinda just assumed that you… were into him all this time. For the past, uh, six years. Just from the way you were acting about him, even all the way back.” 

“Uhm. Can you elaborate?” Akira asks, feeling a bit lost. He absentmindedly scratches Morgana’s ears, his friend being rolled up into a loaf next to him. Morgana was angry at Akira for dashing off to confront the culprit before even seeking him out, but Akira could make it up to him by getting sushi on the way home. Now, fortunately, he is snoring contently next to him.  

“I mean… the way you were constantly hanging out with him, even when you knew about his upcoming betrayal? And how you told me about all your outings? And the time you told that girl from the newspaper club that he’s, and I quote, ‘too pretty to be wrong?’”

Oh. Akira did say that, huh.

He starts chewing on his lip. “If you say it like that… I mean, I did like spending time with him back then, too. But, you know… it was complicated. Our circumstances were, and the way I felt about him was. I was thinking that I could just…” He pauses for a moment, looking for the right words. “… Figure out my feelings once everything was over and Shido was taken down. But then Akechi was gone, and this whole thing became a can of worms that I just couldn’t open anymore. But now that he’s back…”

He swallows, and the line falls silent again. 

Then, he hears Ann hum, “You can’t run away from it anymore, huh.”

Akira nods. Ann can’t see it, of course, but she probably draws her conclusion from his silence.

“Well, but that’s not the end of the world, is it? Are you gonna tell him?” she perks up again after a while.

Akira groans. “Are you joking? It’s Akechi we’re talking about. He likes no one, and tolerates me at best.” He can’t help but let out a deep sigh. “Telling him I have feelings for him would probably disgust him so much, he’d run off for another five years.”

“Touché. Forget I said that,” Ann says bleakly. “Though, for what it’s worth, I do think you’re a pretty special person to him. I mean, you were pretty much the only one he was talking to when he came back in Maruki’s reality. But, yeah,” she exhales, “he’s hard to read, I guess. You’ll probably have to approach this with caution.”

Akira sighs again. “I’m not approaching anything, Ann. I want to keep him in my life above everything, so I won’t do anything that could make him leave again. I’m just telling you this to get advice on how to get over a crush. Heard you’re an expert at that.”

It’s obviously sarcasm, and Ann laughs humorlessly. “Well then, I suppose at the very least we’re in the same boat once again, Akira.” 

Akira smiles ruefully, caressing Morgana’s soft fur. Ann is right, though.

Compared to everything he’s been through with Akechi, an unrequited crush really isn’t the end of the world.

Chapter Text

It’s May, and spring is slowly biding its farewells. The sunny weather today is accompanied by a nice, cool breeze, making it a perfect day for outings, and that’s exactly what most of the Thieves seem to be doing today. Ryuji wrote in the morning that he’s going for a jog, and Sumire cheerfully declared that she would join him. Makoto and Haru decided to go on a day trip to Enoshima, and Yusuke said he would venture out into the Inokashira park in search for a new muse. 

As for Akira, he really wishes he wasn’t stuck at a part-time job today.

But since he’s doing it to save up money and travel somewhere nice in summer, he’s able to push through. And also, he does quite like his shifts at Rafflesia — he’s always surrounded by pretty imagery and a sweet scent, and recently, Shiho started working there too. Akira is starting to miss Ann a lot, so being able to spend some time with her best friend who’s in the same boat is pretty nice.

Shiho has been teaching him quite a lot about flower language. He contemplates using his new knowledge to put together a bouquet for Akechi, but he’s pretty sure it would end up in the trash, and those poor flowers wouldn’t deserve that.

Akira glances over to Shiho, who is busy watering the flowers on one of the shelves, looking deeply lost in thought. His eyebrows furrow in concern when he sees water dripping over the edge of one of the pots, right onto the ground, but his friend doesn’t even seem to notice. “Everything alright, Shiho? Need some help?”

She slightly flinches, quickly turning around to meet Akira’s gaze — she looks a little abashed, as if whatever train of thought Akira snapped her out of was embarrassing to her. Finally, she shakes her head.

“I’m alright, thank you. It’s just…” A moment passes as Shiho glances down at the watering can in her hands. “Uhm… I haven’t heard from Ann in a while. Have you talked to her recently? Is she alright?” she asks, a shy smile playing on her lips.

Akira nods at her. “Yeah. She’s doing good. Told me that she misses you, though. I’m sure she would be happy if you called her again sometime.”

Shiho’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushing bright red. “Oh. Oh... Did she really say that? I… I guess I should do that."

She turns away quickly, busying herself with watering the flowers again, and Akira has to suppress the urge to slam his head on the counter.

Ann loves Shiho, and Shiho loves Ann. 

It’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs, except for the two girls in question, who have been dancing around each other for who knows how many years. Akira has been trying his utmost to be their wingman, but they keep making it difficult; Ann stresses at least once a week that Shiho ‘may not even like girls,’ as she dated a boy in their first year of university. And then, a few months ago, when Shiho started talking to a guy again, his friend had the brilliant plan of accepting a model agency's offer for a program in the United States, so she could escape to New York for a few months.

A couple of weeks ago, Shiho joined Akira at his part-time job at Rafflesia. She said that she needed a little extra money and would only keep the job for a few months, but Akira vowed to himself to use this once-in-a-lifetime-chance to bring the two girls closer together.

But then it turned out that Shiho is just as oblivious as Ann when it comes to the feelings between them, if not more, and that whatever effort Akira makes, it would probably be futile.

He sighs, moving to rearrange the bouquets on one of the shelves, when his eyes fall on a garden gnome standing next to the counter. He looks grumpy, his features contorted into a deep frown, arms crossed in front of his little body. The gloomy expression already makes Akira think of a certain someone, but when he sees that the gnome is wearing little black gloves, he almost bursts out laughing. 

Without hesitation, he snaps a photo of the garden gnome and opens one particular chat on his phone.

Akechi Goro

[14:26] Akira: i found you at the flower shop ( ˘ ³˘) ⋆♡‧₊˚
[14:26] Akechi: Fuck off, Kurusu.

The reply pops up almost instantly, making Akira break out into a wide grin.

[14:27] Akira: not busy with work today, huh? 
[14:28] Akechi: I am, but these cases bore me to death. Still need to work on them, though. I’ll tell you about them some other time.
[14:28] Akira: got it. don’t forget to eat

His message is instantly marked as Read , but Akechi doesn’t grant him a further response. The shop is still empty; Shiho has finished watering the flowers and is typing something on her phone, and Akira is starting to feel a little bored. He drums his fingers on the counter a few times, then decides to open the Thieves’ group chat to catch up on the conversations he has missed.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)

(99+ unread messages)
[14:01] Skull: been thinking about getting a dog
[14:02] Queen: Oh, how come?
[14:02] Skull: you know i’m trying to get back into running and stuff
[14:02] Skull: thought it would be fun to have someone to accompany me, for the times sumi is busy
[14:03] Skull: also my moms friend has to rehome her dog so i was like
[14:03] Skull: feeling bad for the little guy
[14:05] Noir: Aww, I think that’s a great idea!
[14:06] Queen: Yes, if you can take care of a pet, I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t adopt one in need.
[14:12] Fox: Can I cut the mold out of my fruit and eat the unmolded part?
[14:12] Oracle: Can I cut the mold out of my fruit and eat the mold?
[14:13] Fox: ?
[14:15] Queen: Yusuke, on the other hand, probably shouldn’t get a pet.
[14:15] Oracle: he already has lobsters tho
[14:17] Queen: He’s still keeping them?
[14:30] Joker: hey guys
[14:30] Skull: bro!
[14:31] Joker: there’s a sale at the rafflesia flower shop if one of you wants to stop by
[14:31] Oracle: are you advertising the shop to us because youre lonely at your job
[14:31] Joker: :(
[14:32] Queen: Rafflesia is at the Shibuya underground mall, correct?
[14:32] Queen: You work there?
[14:33] Joker: yeah, on and off
[14:34] Queen: Okay. Just be careful. I heard from my sister about a kidnapper at the underground mall.
[14:34] Skull: shit, for real?
[14:35] Queen: People keep disappearing there. They haven’t quite figured out what’s going on yet.
[14:36] Joker: uh oh
[14:36] Joker: thanks for the heads up. i’ll be careful

Akira starts chewing on his lip. Akechi said he’s working, but Akira has just been presented with a mystery, and it is the perfect excuse to bother Akechi further. He’s curious about what the detective might think.

Allegedly, Akechi’s work today is boring anyway, so Akira supposes it’s fine.

Akechi Goro

[14:40] Akira: did you hear about a kidnapping case at the shibuya underground mall?
[14:45] Akechi: Yes. Sae told me about it. She asked me to help with the investigation, but I would like to solve these stupid fucking theft cases first so these pain-in-the-ass clients will stop bothering me about them.
[14:46] Akira: so a theft case and then a kidnapping case, huh
[14:46] Akira: is your work always like that? i thought private investigators usually get hired for following around people’s spouses, stuff like that
[14:50] Akechi: Well, my first few cases were like that. But then one of the targets got violent, and I guess word got around that if you need a P.I. who's not afraid to wield a gun, I'm the right man.

True. There are certain cases where it’s surely beneficial if your P.I. is an ex-Metaverse assassin. Akira had experienced that himself when they reunited in the middle of a Yakuza case.

[14:51] Akira: are you even legally allowed to carry a gun
[14:53] Akechi: Since when are you concerned about the legality of things?
[14:53] Akira: touché

“Akira-kun,” he hears a small voice next to him chime up, and he startles a bit, looking up to meet Shiho’s eyes. “My pâtisserie class starts soon. Can I leave the shop to you for today?”

Akira blinks a few times. “You’re taking a pâtisserie class? Is it because of Ann’s sweet tooth?” he asks, watching a blush slowly creep up her cheeks again.

“Oh, no! I mean, yes. I mean, I was thinking I would like to make some cakes for Ann when she returns… but I was just interested in this class myself,” she tries to explain, her voice a pitch higher than usual. Akira can’t suppress a little smirk.

“No worries. The shop’s closing in an hour anyway. I won’t let the manager find out.” He brings his index finger up to his lips and winks at Shiho, who quickly breaks into a relieved smile. She collects her belongings, then waves Akira goodbye as she scrambles out of the shop. 

Akira sighs. The store just got even more lonely, but his shift is almost over anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, checking for new messages, but there’s no one granting him any distraction — so he just props his chin on his hand, watching the masses of people hustle through the underground mall, passing the flower shop as if it were invisible.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar face in the crowd. 

“Sae-san!” he calls out, successfully getting the lawyer’s attention on him. She turns around in surprise, a small smile blooming on her face when she notices Akira at the flower shop, and walks over to him.

“Kurusu-kun. It’s been a while,” she says, and Akira nods at her, pushing up his glasses a little. He can’t help but feel a little intimidated by her aura, even all these years later, but he does consider her a friend nowadays; he would love to catch up with her, ask her what she and Makoto have been up to, but there are more burning questions on his mind right now. 

“I, uhm… I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Sae-san,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows a little. 

“What is it?”

Akira doesn’t immediately reply, awkwardly scratching his neck. There’s really no good way to start this conversation, so he probably shouldn’t beat around the bush.

“It’s about Akechi. I recently found out he’s alive, and working as a private investigator. You, uhm, you knew about him, right?”

Sae stares at him wide-eyed for a few moments, then her gaze falls down to the floor, and she clenches her bag.

“… Yes. I did. I’m sorry for not telling you.” She bites her lip. “He approached me a few months ago, when he opened up his agency. I wanted to tell you and the other Phantom Thieves about his survival back then, but he threatened that if I did, he would leave Tokyo for good.”

Ouch. So Akechi really didn’t want to see him again.

“I was really happy that he was alive and fine, and I didn’t immediately want him to run off again,” Sae sighs. “I thought maybe at some point he would change his mind and let you all know. So I decided I wouldn’t tell any of you for now.”
She slightly shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, no”, Akira says quickly, waving his hand in front of her. “I get it. I mean, I found out that he’s alive a few weeks ago, and I haven’t told the others yet, either. I’m a bit worried about their reaction.”

He fidgets with his bangs, and when Sae doesn’t immediately reply, he decides to switch the topic. “Uhm, Makoto told me something about a kidnapping case here at the underground mall. Is that why you’re here?” 

Sae’s expression suddenly turns serious, and she lowers her voice when she replies, “Yes. I was talking to some of the shop owners here. Ask them if they have interacted with the people gone missing in the past week, or noticed any suspicious people. I would like to ask you, as well.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone suspicious. Who are the victims?”

Sae lowers her voice even further, leaning forward a bit, as if to make sure no one would listen in. “As of today, four young women between twenty and thirty years old have gone missing. All of them were seen entering the mall, but didn’t re-emerge. We haven’t found any of them yet, neither alive nor dead.”

Akira ponders for a few seconds, thinking back to his customers of the recent days. He recalls a young man getting a bouquet for his girlfriend, a middle-aged regular purchasing tomato seeds for her garden, several old ladies who were more interested in conversing with Akira and Shiho than buying flowers, and Haru, who he knows hasn’t gone missing.

“I probably haven’t met any of them,” Akira addresses Sae again. “But I’ll keep my eyes open during my shifts here.”

Sae nods at him, her features softening again. “Thank you. I have to get going now. Stay safe.” 

A moment later, she’s already disappearing in the crowd again, presumably looking for her next target to interrogate.

Akira watches after her for a while, then decides to get out his phone again.

Akechi Goro

[15:05] Akira: just met sae
[15:05] Akira: the kidnapping case seems to worry her too
[15:10] Akechi: I’m aware.
[15:10] Akechi: Don’t you have anything better to do than bothering me?
[15:10] Akira: glad you asked
[15:10] Akira: no

The little dots signalizing Akechi typing appear and disappear a few times, and Akira grins. The boredom is making him feel bolder than usual, so he might as well go the extra mile. 

[15:12] Akira: by the way
[15:12] Akira: wanna come to leblanc later today?
[15:12] Akira: sojiro’s not here today
[15:12] Akira: i’ll make you curry
[15:13] Akechi Goro is typing…
[15:14] Akechi: Alright, if you insist.
[15:14] Akechi: Since it didn’t work out last time.
[15:15] Akira: don’t pass out on the way again :)
[15:15] Akechi: Fuck you. 

Akira smiles, pocketing his phone again. 

The last time he saw Akechi was when they were chasing down a murderer, over two weeks ago; he has seemed more open towards chatting on the phone since then, but they haven’t shared any calls, let alone met up. Akira is really starting to miss his soft voice and stupidly handsome face. 

The prospect of spending the evening with his rival makes the last hour of his shift a little more bearable.

Once Akira is back at Leblanc, he wastes no time to put on a new pot of curry. 

“Akechi is coming,” he informs Morgana, who follows Akira’s motions with interest. “For real, this time. Hopefully.”

Morgana narrows his eyes at him. “You seem way too excited about this.”

It’s true — Akira feels jittery, and there’s a little spring to his steps. Maybe it’s just because he’s happy to see him again, outside any murder case investigations, or maybe the butterflies in his stomach are thanks to him realizing his crush on Akechi. Either way, he’s not sure if Morgana would understand him.

Akira is just adding some final spices to his curry when he hears the jingle of a bell, and — sure enough — when he whips around, he finds Akechi Goro, in the flesh, standing in the doorway of Leblanc. He put on his trench coat and leather gloves despite the warm weather, and he’s wearing his hair down today, a few loose strands tucked behind his ear.

For a moment, it makes Akira recall the events of a certain February evening — after all, that was the last time Akira saw his rival in Leblanc. But this time it’s different; they’re here, in the real world, not in a false reality, and Akechi is alive. This time, there’s no secret to his survival; Akechi is real, and he’s here to stay.

Akira refuses to consider any other option.

“Welcome home,” he says with a soft smile, placing a plate of steaming hot curry in front of Akechi’s designated seat.

“Hi, Akechi,” Morgana follows up, and compared to the last time he shared a conversation with Akechi, his voice seems a little more cheerful and welcoming. Akira supposes he wants to make an effort at giving Akechi another chance, and he couldn’t be more thankful to his little feline friend. 

Akechi huffs, strolling over to the counter and collapsing on his seat with a loud thud without as much as granting Akira a greeting.

“Exhausting day?” Akira asks, pushing a cup of coffee next to the plate of curry.

Akechi just nods, immediately starting to gobble down the curry as if it was the first meal he has eaten in days. And Akira wouldn’t even be surprised if it was.

“The clients I’m currently working with are a bit… difficult,” he starts between bites, a glum expression on his face. “Or, in other words, they’re useless fucking shitheads who can’t do anything but complain about me not solving their goddamn problems faster.” 

“Sounds rough,” Akira laughs. “You said it’s a theft case. Are these clients all related to it?” 

Akechi nods, taking a sip of his coffee, and his body seems to relax a little. “It’s a case involving a serial thief. Who steals gardening tools, out of all things.”

Akira raises an eyebrow. “Gardening tools.”

Akechi frowns, visibly annoyed having to repeat it. “Gardening tools. Three unrelated gardeners in Tokyo have reported some of their tools going missing. Think rakes, shovels, hedge shears, sickles. Though, the last thing that went missing was a flower pot.”

He pronounces ‘flower pot’ as if it disgusts him, the little inconsistency in the thief’s targets particularly irritating him by the looks of it.

“Huh,” Akira taps his chin, “is there anything all of these have in common? Besides being objects related to gardening?”

“You could use all of them to murder someone,” Akechi shrugs, and glares at Akira when he laughs out loud. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just, that’s a very ‘Akechi’ thought.”

“I’ve been wondering, Akechi,” Morgana chimes up, “Why did you become a detective— I mean, private investigator, again? I kind of thought that your whole detective career back in the day was, uh, fabricated.”

Akechi shoots the cat an offended look. “Believe it or not, but I was investigating real cases outside the mental shutdowns. I wouldn’t go back to working with the police as a detective, but I do happen to enjoy solving cases, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I went back to it once I could,” he says dryly. 

Akira bites his lip. He’s been trying his utmost not to steer his conversations with Akechi in the direction of Akechi’s reappearance, and what he has been up to these past years. But now that he has kind of brought it up himself, the questions start burning on Akira’s mind again. He doesn’t want to scare off Akechi by insisting on answers, but at the same time, there’s too much he wants to know.

Suddenly, he has an idea.

“By the way,” he begins when Akechi scoops up the last bits of curry on his plate, “I bought this neat little chess set recently. Care for a rematch?” Akechi doesn’t respond immediately, so Akira adds, “If I win, I get to ask you a question, and you have to answer truthfully.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow at him. “I can imagine what you would like to ask. And if I win?”

“Then I’ll refrain from asking you things that you don’t want to answer, until you’re willing to tell me yourself.” Akira shrugs as he collects Akechi’s dishes and starts rinsing them under the faucet. 

“You sound awfully confident. You seem to be forgetting that I crushed you last time we played,” Akechi says with a smirk, getting up from his seat and adjusting his gloves. “But I will humor you. It’s been a while.” 

Success. Akira smiles to himself as he continues to clean the dishes. “You can go upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Akechi nods, and after a moment of hesitation, he turns around and starts climbing up the stairs. Akira hurries to dry off his plate and cup, then quickly wipes off the counter. His gaze falls on Morgana, who has been watching the exchange between the two of them quietly, his nose scrunched up a little.

“Chess is boring. I think I’m gonna go visit Futaba,” he says, but there is a hint of uncertainty in his voice. A moment passes, and then he continues, “Will you be okay?”

Akira shoots him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, don’t worry. I doubt we’re gonna end up in the middle of a criminal case today. If we do, I’ll come get you this time, promise.”

Morgana’s ears perk up at that, his expression looking satisfied. “I’m holding you to that. If you don’t, you owe me two-hundred servings of fatty tuna,” he says before jumping through the slightly opened window in one swift movement.  

Akira smiles after him, and the moment Morgana is gone, he wastes no time to leap up the staircase leading to his bedroom. He finds Akechi still standing at the entrance to his room, hand on his chin, scanning the room as if it were a potential crime scene.

“You’ve renovated,” he comments when he hears Akira’s footsteps behind him.

“Good catch, detective,” Akira smirks. “You like it?”

“It’s an upgrade from last time I was here, that’s for sure,” Akechi shrugs before he approaches the table in the corner, and a moment later he’s already sitting down, drumming his fingers impatiently against the sturdy wood of the table.

Akira rummages through his shelf for a minute, then turns to present the chess set he recently purchased to his rival.

It’s an expensive set made of high-quality wood that he picked up from the mall in Shibuya earlier this year. Both the black and white pieces are decorated with little red ornaments, bearing a slight resemblance to Joker and Crow in the metaverse. Which was precisely why Akira couldn’t help but purchase the set when he saw it, though he doesn’t tell Akechi — who either doesn’t notice or decides not to comment on it, immediately starting to place the black pieces on his side of the board instead.

“Well then,” he smirks at Akira who has sunk down on the chair opposite of him, and places his last pawn on the board. “Show me what you’ve got, Joker.”

The further their game continues, the more Akechi’s smirk dies on his face. His brows start to twitch a little in irritation when he moves his rook in a risky maneuver, and by the time Akira places his bishop diagonally from Akechi’s king and whispers “Checkmate,” his face has fallen into a deep frown.

“No way. You practiced while I was gone,” he accuses Akira, exasperated.

Akira just shrugs at him. “Never said I didn’t. Turns out Sojiro is pretty decent at chess too.” He takes Akechi’s king and starts twirling it between his fingers. His heartbeat quickens a little in anticipation. “So. I get to ask you a question, right?”

Akechi narrows his eyes, then huffs as he crosses his arm. “If you insist. What do you want to know?” 

Way too many things. Akira contemplates for a few moment as he goes through all the questions he has for Akechi. In the end, he settles for one.

“You didn’t reach out to me for five whole years. Why did you let me believe you’re dead?”

Akechi doesn’t respond immediately, stubbornly staring down at the chessboard in silence.

Akira waits for a few moments, then continues, “Sae said that you threatened to leave Tokyo for good if she told us about your survival. It sounded like you really didn’t wanna be found by me, and I wanna know why.”

Finally, Akechi looks up, scowling at Akira. “… Let me ask you a counter question, Joker. Why should I have told you? We made a deal to take down Maruki, and we did, so there was really no reason to cooperate further.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Akira says, anger bubbling inside him. “That wasn’t the only deal we’ve had, Crow. You promised me a rematch, and then you disappeared off the face of earth, even though you clearly survived. What happened to that deal, huh?”

Akechi vigorously shakes his head before he continues to glare daggers at Akira. “Why do you care so much about that rematch? Or about me surviving, for that matter? Could Joker with his little savior complex not cope with someone dying? Was it too much for the hero to—”

“I fucking mourned you, Akechi!” 

Akira’s voice echoes through the room, and Akechi’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It’s unlike Akira to raise his voice like this, but Akechi’s antics are really pissing him off right now; he balls his hands into fists, fingernails digging deep into his palms.
“You’re my friend — yes, my friend, not just my rival — and I didn’t want you to die. You were—” He swallows. When he continues, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You were my wish in Maruki’s reality. You know that, right? You were there that evening. I very nearly accepted Maruki’s deal because I thought it was the only way to keep you alive.” He breathes in deeply, steeling himself before he looks at Akechi, who’s still staring at him wide-eyed, mouth agape. 

“It’s got nothing to do with a savior complex or whatever. I just… wanted us to have a second chance. For you to be there. ”

Then, the room falls into silence for a long while. Akira thinks he hears Akechi mutter something about “brainless sentimentality,” but it’s so quiet that he’s not sure if he’s imagining things. It does seem to be Akechi’s favorite phrase concerning Akira.

He’s not meeting Akira’s eyes, though, and Akira huffs. “I asked you a question, and then I ended up pouring my heart out to you,” he laments, pursing his lips. “That wasn’t the plan.”

Akechi brings up a gloved hand to his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. His shoulders seem to be shaking the slightest bit, and for a moment Akira thinks he’s either laughing or crying, but when Akechi removes his hand and opens his eyes to glance at Akira, his expression is completely neutral.

“Alright. Remember those guys in suits who were stalking you?” 

Akira blinks a few times, taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “You mean Shido’s lackeys? Of course. I kept seeing them for months after everything was over. Then they slowly disappeared.”

Akechi nods. “That’s because I dealt with them. Some I threatened or blackmailed until they backed off, for others I had to resort to more… violent methods.” Akira stares at him in disbelief as he continues, “There was a good chance they would have kidnapped or even killed you if you or your little band of thieves did anything they didn’t agree with. So I thought I could repay my debt to you by taking care of them for you.” 

Akechi rests his chin on his palm, gaze falling down to the table. “If we had been in contact back then, it could have potentially been dangerous for you. So I decided to stay hidden for the time being, and reach out to you once those guys were dealt with.”

The room falls silent again; Akira needs a few moments to let all of that sink in. Finally, he asks, “So why didn’t you?” He fidgets with a strand of hair falling into his face, watching Akechi shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“By the time I got them off your back,” Akechi finally starts, “a couple of months had passed. Almost a year. I thought you had probably already moved on from everything. I was keeping my eyes on you all that time, and it looked like you had returned to your normal life. I didn’t want to… disrupt that by suddenly returning.” Akechi sighs. “ There’s your answer.”

He’s still unable to look Akira in the eyes, fidgeting with his leather gloves. 

…Akira would like to say he somewhat knows Akechi. 

Of course, Akechi is a person who’s always been hard to read, and who has shrouded himself in lies and secrets for the longest time, but Akira was also there for some of Akechi’s lowest moments; like him baring his deepest, ugliest feelings for everyone to see when he broke down on Shido’s ship.


Maybe that’s why something about the explanation Akechi just gave to Akira feels a little off. 

It’s as if Akechi is not telling him everything, as if there’s a missing piece to this puzzle, because Akechi probably isn’t as altruistic as this explanation makes him sound, staying away from Akira allegedly for his own sake. 

Akechi is scared of something. 

Something about returning into Akira’s life scares him. 

Akechi is still silent, so after a while, Akira clears his throat. “Well, you now know I’m happy that you came back,” he says, and Akechi lifts his gaze to meet Akira’s. 

Something in his eyes looks tired, a little irritated, but there’s also a slight hopefulness in his expression.

Akira keeps going. “You know, I was always hoping, always waiting for you to come back. But there were also nights I was unable to sleep, thinking you had truly died,” he continues, almost a little ashamed to admit it. He clears his throat, and carefully changes the subject. “How did you… survive, in the end?”

Akechi doesn’t respond. But Akira notices his expression slowly hardening, his features twisting in an odd manner; Akira can't quite place the meaning behind it. All of a sudden, Akechi looks much more pale, almost as if... terrified.

“The deal was only one question,” Akechi says, voice sounding a bit raspy. He places his hands on the table and pushes himself up. “I’m done with this conversation. Go bother someone else.”

“What? But why can’t you just tell me—”

“I said, I’m done!” Akechi’s shout echoes through the room, making Akira’s entire body go rigid. He tries to meet maroon eyes, but they are darting around the room, as if Akechi was a cornered animal looking for an escape from their predator, and that predator was Akira himself.

An ugly weight settles deep inside Akira’s stomach.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the rematch. I have to go now,” Akechi murmurs, not granting Akira another glance, and a second later he’s scurrying down the stairs.

Before Akira can as much as process what’s happening, he hears the jingle of the bell, and realizes he’s all alone at Leblanc again. 

Something within him wants to scream.

Chapter Text

Akechi is hiding something. That much is clear as day.


Akira tosses and turns in his bed, his earlier conversation with Akechi replaying in his mind on repeat. He desperately wishes to shut off his brain and fall asleep, telling himself that hopefully he can talk to Akechi again tomorrow and clear things up, but whenever he closes his eyes, he sees his rival’s pale face in front of him; the expression of someone terrified to answer a question that Akira thought would be simple.

How did Akechi survive?


It’s the one question he was unable to answer back in Maruki’s reality, and the possible implications make Akira feel sick to his stomach.

He told Morgana about his conversation with Akechi earlier, unable to keep this rising feeling of dread to himself, and now his cat is sitting on his stomach, looking down at him with worried, deep-blue eyes.

“Morgana,” Akira finally addresses his friend with a sigh, resigning himself to getting no sleep tonight. “Do you think the Metaverse came back?”

Morgana starts kneading his paws on Akira’s blanket, seemingly thinking about it for a moment. “No,” he then says, “I think we would’ve noticed something. I definitely haven’t felt anything strange, and you haven’t seen Lavenza or anyone else either, right?” When Akira shakes his head, he continues, “I think some form of the Metaverse will always exist, but it doesn’t look like there are any forces like… for example, Maruki, messing with it.” His voice drops a little at the last sentence. He seems to understand what Akira is fearing, and is doing his best to reassure him. “Maybe Akechi has a different reason why he can’t tell you, and you’re just jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

“I hope you’re right,” Akira murmurs, hiding his head in his arms. 

It is no use agonizing over it when he doesn’t have all the pieces of information yet; all he can do is find another opportunity to interrogate Akechi on what he knows, but he fears what may happen if he’s not careful enough about it. Whatever Akechi is hiding, it may be at least part of the reason why he didn’t reach out to Akira for so long.


But it will be fine.


Now that Akira got his rival back, he refuses to let him go again.

Akira has another shift at Rafflesia the next day, and it’s like hell on earth.

Every time his gaze falls on the bouquet of red peonies he thinks of maroon eyes, the plea of a boy to let him go, and every time he spots a man with slicked back hair and glasses in the crowd, he thinks of a counselor with a god complex who used his rival’s life as a bargaining chip. It’s January, and he’s seventeen again, and he’s about to lose the one person who understood him like no other, and he feels so helpless.

Even the stupid garden gnome next to the counter seems to be mocking him now with his stupid frown and stupid black gloves, and when Akira glares daggers at him for a little too long, Shiho walks over to him, a worried look on her face.

“You don’t seem well,” she whispers at him. “Do you want to take a break?”

Akira snaps out of his staring contest with the garden gnome, vigorously shaking his head. A break would only allow his thoughts to run more rampant in his mind; what he needs is distraction, not a break. The show must go on.

He puts on a reassuring smile for Shiho, then moves to tend to the customer who has been waiting at the counter. A tall woman in a black suit with long, silvery hair, almost reaching down to her waist, and when Akira looks at her face, he realizes—

“Sae-san?”

He blinks a few times, watching the lawyer’s face fall into a deep frown. “Took you quite a while to notice me. Was the garden gnome that mesmerizing?”

“Sorry,” Akira just says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “What are you doing here?”

Sae sighs, shaking her head. “I need your help with something, but if you’re not feeling up to the task, I can come back later.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Akira quickly says, waving his hands dismissively. “What do you need?”

Sae’s expression grows serious, and she leans in a little, lowering her voice. “It’s about the kidnapping case I told you about yesterday. One of the missing people was found dead.” Akira swallows, feeling his heartbeat quicken, but Sae continues undeterred, “You may be able to help us with the investigation. We need someone who’s knowledgeable about flowers.”

Akira blinks at that. “Flowers?”

Sae nods and crosses her arms, looking around the shop. “I can ask someone else, so don’t feel pressured if you don’t want to get involved. But considering you work here, and you know about the case anyway, I was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to ask you.”

Akira scratches his chin, thinking about it for a few moments. Whatever kind of murders involve flowers, he doesn’t think he’s the best person to ask — most of his knowledge about flowers comes from Haru, or more recently, Shiho. Though, he doesn’t really want either of them to get caught up in the middle of a kidnapping case, especially considering both of them fit the profile of the culprit’s targets so far.

And besides, he needs a little distraction anyway.

“Alright,” he addresses Sae, the lawyer turning to face him again. “I can try to help you out.” He then gestures for Shiho to come over, explaining to her that something came up and asking her to cover for the rest of his shift.

“No problem,” Shiho says as she brings up her index finger to her lips, mirroring Akira’s gesture from yesterday. “I’ve got your back.”


A minute later, Akira follows Sae out of the mall. Her steps are quick and hurried, and he almost has trouble keeping up with her as she departs from the busy streets of Shibuya, approaching a more secluded corner of the district.

Suddenly, Akira sees police cars. One, two, three of them, all parked in front of the entrance to a back alley; a few police officers are currently putting up caution tape to stop passersby from entering. 

His blood runs cold at the sight. His heartbeat in his throat, little sweat drops form on his forehead; he must have halted his steps, because suddenly Sae stops too, eyeing Akira in concern.

Then, realization dawns on her face. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, “I didn’t know you’re still struggling with this. Maybe you should go home, after all.”

Akira shakes his head immediately, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. He’s been ruminating enough today, and he can’t let any more bad memories of that year get the best of him. 

In his head, Akira counts to ten. Then, he opens his eyes again to face Sae.

“Sorry. I’m okay,” he says, shooting her a reassuring smile, and as if to prove it, he strolls over to the police cars with determined steps. 

He hears the clacking of Sae’s heels, and a moment later she’s next to him again, laying a hand on his shoulder, probably to signal to the cops that he’s with her. It works, and none of them bat an eye at the most definitely unauthorized civilian passing the caution tape and entering the crime scene.

Then, Akira spots the body, and immediately understands why Sae wants his help for the investigation. 

The victim is lying on the ground, in the back of the alley, covered by a large white sheet; a few dark spots on the sheet tell Akira that she must have been stabbed in the chest. More striking than the condition of the body, however, is its surroundings; what must be dozens of purple flower bouquets are arranged around the woman, the same way someone would decorate a coffin. 

“A passerby found the body like this,” Sae tells Akira. “With the flowers and everything. Figuring out what’s up with them might give us a hint about the identity of the culprit… at least, that's what he thinks.” She gestures over to a figure leaning over a blood stain slightly removed from the body. When Akira’s gaze falls on the man, he feels his heart sink. 

“Akechi-kun, come here for a second,” Sae calls out. Akira’s rival looks up, his eyes widening in terror when he spots Akira. He scrambles to get up, then scurries over to the pair, looking increasingly furious the further he approaches. 

“Why the fuck,” he spits, his voice laced with venom, “do you show up wherever I go, Kurusu?” Then he turns toward Sae, “Out of all the people, you seriously had to go ask him!?”

Sae seems taken aback by his outburst, looking between the two men in confusion. “Kurusu-kun works at a flower shop, and he knows about the case anyway,” she explains, her voice wavering a little in irritation. “Is there a problem? Did something happen between you two?”

Akira says nothing, watching Akechi pinch the bridge of his nose and breathing in deeply, probably trying to regain his composure.

After a few moments, Akechi addresses Sae again. “It's alright. Just, can you give us a minute?”

Sae furrows her brows, but eventually nods, leaving the two men to themselves as she walks over to a group of cops at the crime scene. 

Akira swallows, shifting from one foot to the other as he watches Akechi stubbornly stare at the ground. “Hey,” Akira says to break the silence, pushing up his glasses a bit when Akechi turns to face him. “Uhm, I’m sorry for yesterday. Shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

Akechi huffs, shaking his head. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he mutters, crossing his arms. His eyes aren’t quite meeting Akira’s. “We do need to talk about it. Later, though. This isn’t the right place nor time.” Akechi turns towards the body laying on the ground, a few meters from the two.

“Yeah, I guess. Uh, what do you know about this case?” Akira asks cautiously.

“The victim is called Kirishima Atsuko. Female, twenty-five years old, was the first person to disappear at the Shibuya underground mall a week ago. Found today around noon by a civilian who’s unlikely to be the culprit. Death by a stab through the heart,” Akechi rattles off without looking at Akira. “It wouldn’t be that unusual of a murder case if it wasn’t for those flowers.”

He walks over to the body and picks up one of the purple flowers arranged around the victim, then turns to show it to Akira. ”Any idea what these could mean?”

Akira takes the flower from Akechi, turning it between his fingers. “It’s a purple hyacinth,” he says, trying to recall what Shiho has taught him about flower language. “It represents sorrow, regret, and asking for forgiveness. Not an unusual choice for a funeral, which I assume is what the culprit was trying to recreate here?” He gestures at the way the countless purple flowers are arranged around the body. “Though using so many of these and nothing else seems like an unusual choice.”

“Huh. I see,” Akechi murmurs, deeply lost in thought. “If this was a one-off instance, I’d think it’s a case of mariticide — maybe someone killed their spouse in an argument and ended up regretting it. But the fact that there are still other people missing makes me think this isn’t the last dead body that’ll turn up.”

“Is it certain that the other kidnapping cases are connected to this one? Is there anything else the missing women have in common, besides age and gender?” Akira asks.

“Their physique, according to Sae,” Akechi replies. “I haven’t seen it myself, but Sae said she has compared photos of all the people who went missing, and their physical attributes resemble each other. They’re all slim, on the taller side, and have at least shoulder-length black hair.”

Suddenly, his gaze snaps to the exit of the back alley, and lingers there for a few moments. Before Akira can ask him what’s up, Akechi’s eyes suddenly widen.

“Fuck!” Akechi shouts, leaping up and dashing past the police tape, leaving the crime scene with quick steps. He disappears around the corner, leaving behind a gaping Akira, unsure of what just happened.

Akira catches himself quickly though, scrambling up to run after Akechi, but when he rounds the corner of the back alley, his rival is nowhere to be seen; he has already been swallowed by the crowd of the nearby street.

He hears footsteps behind him, and when he turns, he finds Sae frowning deeply at the crowd in the distance.

“What was up with Akechi-kun?” she addresses Akira, who can do nothing but helplessly shrug at her.

“No idea.” 

A few seconds pass between the two, neither of them knowing how to proceed. 

“I… guess I’ll call him,” Akira eventually says, retrieving his phone from his pocket and tapping on Akechi’s contact to shoot him a call. To his relief, he answers the call almost instantly after a single beep.

“Kurusu,” he huffs, evidently out of breath. “Good that you’re calling. Get Sae on the phone.”

Akira opens his mouth in an attempt to retort something, but he freezes when he faintly hears the roaring of a motorbike engine through the phone. “Hold on. Are you on your bike?” he says with a frown. He’s very much aware of all of Akechi’s unsafe driving practices, but using a phone on a motorbike takes the cake.

“It’s alright,” Akechi says, more an impatient hiss than a reassuring answer. “I’ve got a Bluetooth helmet. It’s safe to call. Now get Sae on the phone, for fuck’s sake.”

Akira chews on his lip, unsure if this is really a good idea. But whatever is going on might be urgent, so he ends up doing what Akechi wants and puts his phone on speaker for Sae.

“What happened, Akechi-kun?” she asks sternly.

“A hooded guy wearing a flu mask was spying on us,” Akechi explains. “I caught him looking around the corner. When he realized I saw him, he ran away and drove off with his car. I’m following him right now.”

“Oh god,” Sae mutters. “Please be careful, Akechi-kun.”

Akechi just snarls and mutters something Akira can’t quite make out with all the background noise.

“Where are you heading?” Sae then asks. “I’ll follow you by car.”

“One second,” Akechi grumbles in response. “I’ve lost the target. Where the fuck did he go…?”

The line goes quiet for a while, then Akechi’s voice perks up again.

“Not quite sure where I am right now. Already left Shibuya. I think I’m heading towards— shit. Fuck!”

Akira’s breath catches in his throat when an ear-shattering crash rings through the phone, followed by silence.

A second later, the call disconnects, leaving only a beeping noise behind, and Akira feels his heart drop. He turns to look at Sae, who looks back at him with wide eyes.

Suddenly, Akira’s vision becomes blurry. He clutches his phone, barely aware of the trembling of his hands. “Akechi-kun…” a voice next to him whispers, but he can barely focus on it, too distracted by the ringing in his ears, feeling cold all of a sudden.


No. No no no. This can’t be happening.


With trembling fingers, he tries to connect the call again; but it’s to no avail. 

“No fucking way,” he rasps in disbelief. This seemingly makes Sae snap out of her trance, grabbing onto Akira’s arm and dragging him in the direction of her car. 

“We have no idea where he even went. Somewhere outside of Shibuya… how the hell are we going to find him?” she murmurs as she gets into the driver seat, and Akira gulps, hand on the car handle.

He knows how they can find Akechi. But the timing is just so god damn awful.

Still, there’s no other option now. He has to do this.

He enters Sae’s car, then gets out his phone again, and sends Akechi’s number to one particular contact. He clicks on the Call button, his fingers so shaky that he has trouble holding up the phone.

“Yo, Player Two! What’s with that number you sent?” a cheerful voice perks up when the call finally connects.

Akira takes a deep breath.

“Hi, Futaba,” he starts cautiously. “I need you to do me a favor. Can you track the owner of the phone based on that number, and send the location to Sae-san?”

Futaba seems to notice the shakiness in his voice, and her tone becomes more serious. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Just need a moment to hack into their phone, I’ve gotten pretty good at this.” She hesitates for a moment. “What happened, Akira?”

“I don’t have time to explain everything right now,” Akira replies, every single word feeling heavy in his throat. “Just one thing. When you hack into the phone— whatever you find, please don’t freak out. I promise I’ll explain everything to you.”

“What the heck,” Futaba laughs nervously. “You’re gonna make me freak out even more if you keep talking in riddles. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Give me a second.”

Akira hears the clacking sounds of a keyboard on the other side of the line. 

A minute passes. To Akira, it feels like an eternity.

“Alright, that was a piece of cake,” Futaba finally perks up again. “Whoever it is, their security sucks. Let me send the location over to Sae.” 

Akira hears the ping of a notification from Sae’s phone, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees relief painting her face for a split second. Then, her expression turns stern again, and she enters the location into her navigator, wasting no time to start the car and taking off with screeching tires.

“Now, what’s up with the owner of that phone? Why’d you say—” Futaba starts, but then the line falls silent.

Akira swallows. “Futaba?”

“I… oh,” Futaba’s voice chimes up, then dies off again for a few seconds. “I… looked at their messages,” she adds quietly. 

There’s an audible inhale on the other side of the line.

“It’s… it’s Akechi, isn’t it?”

Akira internally wants to scream. He really, really shouldn’t have kept it from Futaba for so long. She deserves this conversation, and an explanation, but now is just the worst possible time for it.

“I’m sorry, Futaba,” he says through gritted teeth, “for not telling you sooner. I fucked up. I promise I’ll explain everything later, but right now I can’t talk to you about it. I think Akechi—” He feels bile rising in his throat. “I think Akechi had a motorbike crash.”

A wave of nausea rolls over him at the admission, and when Sae cuts a sharp corner, his vision threatens to blur out again.

“…kira? Akira! Hey, can you hear me?”

He blinks a few times, realizing Futaba just called his name several times, voice laced with worry.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he mutters, trying to calm his breathing.

“Don’t worry about me right now, okay? We can talk later,” Futaba says quietly. “Take… take care of Akechi first.”

Akira hears her shaky breath through the phone, and he wishes he could give her a tight hug right now.

“Okay,” he says, just as Sae nudges him, prompting him to look up, and Akira spots a thick, dark smoke coming from behind a corner. “Thank you, Futaba. I’ll talk to you later.” 

He disconnects the call as Sae rounds the corner, swallowing as he takes in the scene before him.

The first thing he spots is the cause of the black smoke — a wrecked motorbike lying on the ground, broken parts of the vehicle scattered all over the street. Then, he notices an ambulance that someone must have called parked at the side of the road.

Finally, he sees two paramedics tending to a person on the ground.

The moment Sae slows down, Akira unbuckles the seatbelt and leaps out of the car, stumbling towards the two men who are putting the person on a stretcher. He feels his heartbeat in his throat as he makes out the person’s features; caramel hair stained with blood, a trench coat half torn, thin arms that look painfully dislocated.

The bruised, bloody face of his rival, twisted in what must be excruciating pain.  

“Akechi!” he calls out, making the paramedics whip around in surprise. His knees buckle when he reaches the stretcher, and he grabs onto the bars on the side with shaking hands. Vaguely, he registers the clacking of Sae’s heels behind him and feels a hand on his shoulder.

Akechi squints at him, eyes focusing and unfocusing a few times, before his eyes wander over to Sae, and he opens his mouth. “Don’t waste your time here. You need to follow that guy.”

His voice sounds raspy, making it evident how much effort it costs him to speak, and that was what he had to say? 

“You can’t be serious,” Akira grits out, and is rewarded by an icy cold glare.

“You don’t fucking get it,” Akechi hisses. “That guy rammed me with his car. He’s the culprit for sure, and you want to let him get away!?”

“Tell me about his car,” Sae interrupts before their exchange can get any more heated. “I will take care of it. Kurusu-kun will accompany you.”

Akechi scowls for a moment, then addresses Sae again. “A black golf… he took off the license plate. But there would… definitely be traces of the crash.”

His voice becomes quieter with each syllable, eyes threatening to fall shut, and the paramedics are suddenly looking a little alarmed. They heave the stretcher inside the ambulance before Sae can reply anything.

She takes a deep breath, then pats Akira on the back. “I’m leaving him to you. I’ll come after you soon,” she says before turning around, approaching her car in quick steps.

Akira notices the paramedics giving him a questioning look, and it snaps him out of his trance. He quickly nods at them and hurries towards the ambulance, climbing inside behind the stretcher. 

Akechi is blinking at him, clearly fighting to stay conscious. Then, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but no sound leaves his lips. He slightly extends his right hand, fingers shaking as if they are trying to grasp something.

Akira swallows, and after a moment of hesitation, he lays his hand on Akechi’s.

The leather of Akechi’s glove is cold, so Akira carefully peels it off, desperate to feel the warmth of Akechi’s body, to have proof he’s still alive. His bare skin feels rough, littered with little bruises; but his fingers move ever-so-slightly, as if trying to grasp Akira’s hand back.

It will be fine. It has to be fine.

Chapter Text

The hospital lobby is bustling; visitors and nurses are scurrying all over the place, talking, ranting, their steps and voices echoing through the brightly lit hall.  

For Akira, it's all too bright and too loud. He tries to cut out all the noise, focusing on the ticking of the clock on the wall next to him instead as he fidgets with the glove he took from Akechi earlier. He shifts in his chair and stares at the ground, looking for little patterns in the floor tiles in an attempt to find some distraction, and suddenly, there’s a pair of black shoes before him.

Akira blinks a few times, then looks up to find Sae, eyeing him in clear concern.

“Any news on Akechi-kun?” she asks, unable to conceal the anxiety in her tone.

Akira shakes his head. “I briefly talked to a nurse. She told me to wait here.” He feels unable to look Sae in the eyes. Part of him thinks the crash is his fault — it was him who called Akechi while he was riding his motorbike. It seems the culprit intentionally hit him with his car, but if it wasn’t for the distraction, maybe Akechi would’ve been able to dodge the car in time. 

Bile rises in his throat.

Sae sinks down on the seat next to him, kneading her fingers together. “Unfortunately, it looks like the culprit got away,” she starts. “The police are keeping their eyes out for a car that matches Akechi-kun’s description, but it seems the culprit has already gone into hiding.”

Akira just nods, unable to reply. He does wish he could beat that guy’s ass for doing this to Akechi, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to think about the criminal, not when Akechi’s life may still be in danger.

Silence settles between the two, only the distant crowds and the steady ticking of the clock filling the quiet. Just when Akira is about to look up to check how much time has passed, he spots the nurse he talked to earlier approaching them out of the corner of his eyes, and he leaps up. 

His heart is racing, and the lump in his throat comes back at full force when she steps in front of them, holding a clipboard. But then, a reassuring smile appears on her lips, and relief instantly washes over Akira.

“Don’t worry. Everything is alright,” she says, seemingly aware of Akira’s worst fears. “At least, it could be worse.” She looks between him and Sae. “Are you two family, or…?” 

Sae shakes her head. “Just friends. I’m afraid he doesn’t have any family left.”

The nurse nods at her. “Then I would ask you to come with me. There are a few things you should know about his situation.” 

She turns around, gesturing for the two to follow her, and Akira swallows. At the very least, Akechi is alive. But from the sound of it, his condition could be better.

After turning a few corners, and walking down some corridors, the nurse steps inside one of the rooms, and Sae follows behind her. Akira waits a moment to take a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself, so he won't just fall apart as soon as he sees Akechi again, because he knows Akechi will mock him for it, and that won't do. Finally, with his shaky hands clenching the cloth of his inner pockets, he enters the room.

It’s spacious, fitting several — currently empty — hospital beds. Only the bed at the very back of the room, next to a large window, is occupied by a pale, unmoving figure. 

Akira’s stomach drops a little when he recognizes it’s Akechi. 

He’s tucked into big, white blankets, his complexion almost matching the color of the bedsheets. Thick bandages are wrapped around his head, and both of his arms are in casts. He’s asleep, but at the very least, he’s wearing a relaxed expression — appearing like he’s in a deep, peaceful slumber. 

“He was lucky, all things considered,” the nurse starts. “If it’s true that a car crashed into him on purpose, he can consider himself blessed that he’s still alive.” She turns to face Akira and Sae. “A few of his ribs are bruised, and he’s concussed, but it seems his helmet protected him from worse. However, I don’t have good news about his arms. His left arm is broken, and it was an open fracture — it will take a long time to heal. His right arm is dislocated, and has a ruptured ligament. It’ll heal before his left arm, but still be unusable for some time.”

Akira bites his lip, eyeing the two casts on Akechi’s arms. He has an idea where this is going, and frankly, it worries him. He turns back towards the nurse, who is looking between him and Sae, wearing a stern expression.

“You said that he has no family left, but it’s very likely that he will need a caretaker for daily tasks as soon as he’s discharged. You will have to arrange someone who can help him out, at the very least, for one or two weeks.”

Akira and Sae exchange a glance; Sae looks just as apprehensive as Akira feels. 

She turns towards the nurse again. “Thank you for informing us. We will make sure he’s taken care of.”

The nurse nods, a small smile appearing on her face, before she opens the door again and subtly gestures for them to leave the room. “My apologies, but he still needs a lot of rest. You should come back tomorrow, if you want to visit him.”

Sae thanks her, bowing deeply, and Akira follows her lead. He steals one last glance at Akechi before stepping out of the room; he still appears to be fast asleep, staying unmoving doing their entire conversation. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest soothes Akira. He swallows down the lump in his throat, finally turning around to follow Sae out of the room.

Then, they’re alone in the corridor of the hospital. Sae doesn’t speak up, so Akira takes a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he starts the conversation.
“He’s not gonna like that.” Sae turns to face him, so Akira continues, “Needing a caretaker, I mean. He’s gonna hate it, actually.”

Sae sighs, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. He’ll have to deal with it.” She crosses her arms, and her gaze falls on the floor. “I’ll do what I can to support him, but I’m working on a couple of important cases right now. I can’t exactly take time off work to take care of him. How about you?”

“I don’t mind being his caretaker,” Akira mutters, tugging at his bangs. “But if there’s one thing he’s gonna hate more than a caretaker, it’s me being the caretaker.”

“Maybe so.” Sae exhales. “But I don’t think there are many other people we can count on here. Unless you know anyone else who would be happy to take on the role of his caretaker.”

Akira’s stomach churns. Maybe some of his friends would be willing to help; Sumire for sure, and maybe even Ryuji, if Akira asked him nicely.


He will have to explain the situation to them. But it also means he can no longer avoid a certain conversation with the Thieves that he’s been dreading for the past month.

When Akira steps into Leblanc, in the evening when the sun has already set, he immediately feels the shift in the atmosphere. The shop is empty, Sojiro already having left for the day, but Morgana awaits him on the counter, giving him an accusatory look.

“You really should have told Futaba earlier,” Morgana says, ears drooped.

Akira uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. “You were with her?”

A moment of silence passes, and Akira sees it as affirmation.

“She’s not mad at you or anything,” Morgana cautiously says. “But it was a lot for her, to find out under these circumstances. I… I think she’s hurt that you kept it a secret from her, when she trusts you so much.”

“I see.” It’s all Akira can say, his gaze falling to the floor.

Morgana jumps from the counter, carefully approaching him. “Joker…?” he says, a worried tilt to his voice, then he suddenly stops in his tracks, staring at Akira wide-eyed.

“Wait, don’t tell me that Akechi…?”

Akira quickly shakes his head. “No. He’s alive, thankfully. It was just… a lot.” He sighs, slipping into one of the booths and sinking down on the cushions. “He had to be brought to the hospital, and he had completely passed out. Couldn’t even talk to him.”

“Oh,” Morgana says quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Akira hums, getting out his phone. “You were right, though. I should’ve told all of them sooner. I… probably can’t handle this situation by myself,” he sighs. 

Opening his messaging app, he finds several direct messages from the other Thieves, and glancing at the group chat quickly tells him that he must have missed a lot.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)


(99+ unread messages)

[16:35] Skull: by the way has anyone heard from akira today
[16:35] Skull: been trying to contact him but hes not reading my messages
[16:40] Fox: No, in fact, I was also hoping to talk to him. But it appears he is unavailable.
[16:42] Queen: When did you message him, Ryuji?
[16:42] Skull: around noon
[16:42] Skull: he usually replies fast
[16:42] Skull: worried something happened
[16:45] Queen: Okay. I sent him a message too. Let’s hope he’ll check his phone soon.
[16:57] Noir: Akira, let us know if you’re okay!
[18:23] Skull: still nothin
[18:23] Skull: ann have you talked to him at all today
[18:25] Queen: Ann may still be asleep.
[18:25] Skull: oh shit youre right
[18:37] Oracle: i know whats up
[18:37] Oracle: hell probably be back soon
[18:40] Queen: Futaba? Did something happen?
[18:40] Oracle: i guess yeah
[18:41] Skull: ???
[18:43] Noir: Are you okay, Futaba-chan?
[18:43] Oracle: yes whatever
[18:44] Oracle: akira should tell you when hes back, i dont wanna deal with this on my own
[18:50] Queen: Akira, you better explain what’s going on as soon as you can.
[20:18] Joker: hi
[20:18] Joker: sorry for disappearing
[20:19] Skull: dont worry bro
[20:19] Skull: so whats up?

Akira swallows, hesitating for a moment. He feels Morgana’s eyes on him, silently encouraging him, and deep down, he knows he can’t run from this any longer. 

[20:21] Joker: yeah so, there’s something i need to tell you all
[20:21] Joker: can you guys make it to leblanc tonight?

It takes another hour until almost all the Thieves are seated in Leblanc in what Makoto called an ‘emergency meeting.’

Futaba is sitting in the booth at the very back of the café, knees drawn to her chest and wearing a glum expression, frowning at Yusuke who is awkwardly trying to comfort her. Seated opposite of them are Makoto and Haru, both looking between Futaba and Akira in concern. Meanwhile, Ryuji sits at a separate booth, closer to Akira, a lost look on his face. Morgana is drawing circles on the table in front of Ryuji, his tail nervously flicking back and forth.

They’re only waiting for Sumire, who told them she will have to cancel an appointment to join them.

Soon enough, the bell at the door jingles, and Sumire stumbles into the café, clearly out of breath. “Oh! Everyone’s already here— I’m sorry I took so long!” She cautiously looks around the room. “... Though, if this is a Phantom Thieves meeting, you probably don’t need me here anyway.”

Akira immediately shakes his head. “You deserve to know as much as the others,” he says, and Sumire blinks at him in confusion as she sinks down on the seat opposite of Ryuji. All eyes fall on Akira, who’s leaning against the counter, hands buried deep in his pockets. 

Akira takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. There is no good way to prepare his friends for the bomb he’s about to drop. He will just have to bite the bullet.


“Akechi is alive.” Akira's voice is quiet, yet the words echo through the café, followed by a long, stunned silence as each of the Thieves process the revelation.

Ryuji is the first one to perk up, making Morgana flinch as he slams his hands on the table wide-eyed and exclaims a loud “For real!?”

“Oh, I’m happy to hear that!” Sumire next to him beams, clasping her hands together. “I was really worried that he was… actually gone.” 

“I guess we underestimated him,” Ryuji says, and a satisfied grin appears on his face.

Akira breathes out in relief, thankful that the two of them took it so well, but then his eyes fall on the other booth. Haru’s face slowly falls into a frown, neither her nor Futaba meet Akira’s eyes. Meanwhile, Yusuke’s expression stays completely neutral. Makoto notices all these reactions, looking between the three of them, before she locks her eyes on Yusuke.

“Did you know? And you didn't tell us ?” Makoto asks him sternly, making Yusuke flinch a little under her intimidating stare.

“Yusuke, Ann and Morgana knew,” Akira chimes in. “I asked them not to tell you. I’m… sorry. I felt so happy that Akechi was back, and I was worried about everyone’s reactions.” He pushes up his glasses a little, unable to look at the other Thieves. “He didn't... want anyone to know. Not even me. I was scared he would disappear on me again."

“Akira-senpai…” Sumire says softly. “He’s an important person to you, isn’t he?”

Akira silently nods, and after another moment, Makoto clears her throat. “I think I speak for all of us when I say none of us wanted him to die,” she addresses Akira, her tone serious but reassuring at the same time. “But, you really should have told us sooner. We’re your friends, after all.” She smiles at him a little.

“Mako-chan is right,” Haru starts hesitantly. She’s looking down at her hands placed on her lap, still not facing Akira. “Don’t get me wrong, I will never forgive Akechi-kun for what he has done. But it’s true that despite everything, I never wished for him to die.” She finally turns towards Akira, eyeing him a little cautiously. “Why are you telling us now? How long have you known?”

“For about a month,” Akira admits, sheepishly playing with his bangs. “Remember that P.I. who helped me with Iwai’s Yakuza case? That was him.” 

Makoto’s eyebrows shoot up. “No way.” 

Akira nods at her, “It seems he’s actually doing the detective thing for a living now. He’s investigating the Shibuya kidnapper case right now, and he… got into a motorbike accident today chasing a suspect.” He stops for a moment to take a deep breath. “He’s fine, all things considered. But both his arms got messed up, and the nurse said he will need a caretaker for a while. I’ll help him however I can, and Sae will be there, too, but it’s possible we’ll need support.”

The room falls into silence, the Thieves exchanging hesitant glances between each other.

The first one to speak up again is Makoto. “So Sis also knew.” Her voice is hoarse, her tone sounding a little hurt.

Then, Haru follows up, not meeting Akira’s eyes. “Akira, you know you’re important to me as a friend, but… I think you will understand that Futaba and myself are not the right people to ask.”

Akira nods at her. “Yes. I know.”

“Well, uhm… I would like to help, if I can!” Sumire’s voice chimes up, cutting through the heavy atmosphere, and Akira shoots her a thankful smile.

Then his eyes wander over to Yusuke, who brought his hand up to his chin, seemingly thinking about it. “As a matter of fact, I do owe Akechi-kun for clearing my name during the stalker case,” he says. “So if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask, Akira.”

Ryuji groans. “Ugh. I'm glad he is alive and all, but having to take care of him sounds so..." Annoying, Ryuji doesn't say, but Akira knows he is thinking it, and he can't fault him for that. It's true, this will be a challenge for sure. But then, Ryuji grins again and adds, “Sure, I'm up for it. If my best bro wants my help, I won't say no.”

Akira smiles, unable to hold back a sigh of relief. He feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He really hates keeping secrets from his friends. 

His eyes fall over to Futaba, who’s wordlessly hugging her knees, still not meeting Akira’s eyes, and he swallows.

He hopes he’ll find a chance to talk things through with her alone, sometime soon.

For now... this is the best they can do.

It’s only after his shift at Rafflesia the next day that Akira gets the opportunity to visit Akechi again.

With Shiho’s help, he puts together a special bouquet for Akechi consisting of white lilies, a symbol for renewal and restoring health, and pink peonies, which represent healing and good fortune — but also love. Akira isn’t sure how knowledgeable Akechi is about flower language, and frankly, he doesn’t know how knowledgeable he wants him to be; but he simply can’t resist adding the peonies. 

Carrying the bouquet, he checks in at the reception desk of the hospital, fills out a form for visitors, then immediately walks over to Akechi’s room before his thoughts can start spiraling again — about the accident, about the conversation they had over chess, about everything related to Akechi. 

Just when he’s about to knock, the door flings open with a loud bang. Akira startles a bit, but the shock quickly turns into relief as he spots what caused the door to fly open — Akechi, frowning, his leg stretched out in the direction of the door. He must have kicked the door in frustration, unable to open it with his injured arms.

Akira quickly eyes him up and down, and thankfully, Akechi looks much better than yesterday; at least a little of color has returned to his face, his complexion no longer mirroring the white hospital clothes. The bandages around his head are still in place, though, and obviously, so are the casts around his arms.

Akira looks up, meeting maroon eyes that are slowly narrowing, looking between Akira and the bouquet of flowers in scrutiny.

“I don’t know what I should think about you bringing me flowers, considering what caused all of this shit,” he finally grumbles instead of a greeting.

Akira shrugs, squeezing between him and the door frame to enter his room. “Flowers are nice. Don’t let this case ruin them for you,” he says, placing the bouquet on the table next to Akechi’s bed. Then he looks over to Akechi, who’s still standing in the door frame, wordlessly scowling at Akira.

“Are you feeling well enough to move around yet?” Akira asks, scratching his neck. “I heard from the nurse that you cracked your ribs.”

Akechi huffs, shaking his head. “Could be better, obviously. But I’ve been sitting around doing nothing all day — there’s really nothing you can do without using your arms — and it’s starting to drive me crazy. I need to take a walk around here, or I’m going to murder someone.”

“Doubt you can do that without your arms, either,” Akira teases, and is met with an icy cold glare.

“I’ll find a way, and I’ll start with you, if you don’t fucking shut up,” Akechi spits, turning around and leaving the room. Akira sighs, burying his hands in his pockets, and follows after him. 

Matching Akechi's pace proves more difficult than Akira would have expected. Akechi's steps are quick, his frustration evident in the way he strides through the hospital, and occasionally Akira sees him flinch a little in pain. He’s clearly overdoing it, but Akira knows by now that telling him to rest wouldn’t work. 

“Where are we going?” Akira asks as he catches up to Akechi, who has reached the elevator, scowling at the button he needs to press to open the doors. Akira graciously leans over him to push it on his behalf.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Akechi clarifies. “I’m going to the rooftop. I need some fresh air. I don’t care what you do.”

“Well, what a coincidence. I wanted to go to the rooftop, as well,” Akira shrugs as the elevator’s door opens with a ‘Ding,’ stepping inside behind Akechi.

“You’re insufferable,” Akechi sighs, but doesn’t object further. 

The elevator ride passes in silence. Akechi only huffs in annoyance once the doors open again, revealing a short hallway leading up to a glass door. Akira leads the way, pushing open the door for Akechi, who wordlessly strides past him to enter the rooftop.

A gust of cool wind passes over them, and Akechi inhales deeply, his tense muscles relaxing a little when he exhales again. He walks over to the railing, while Akira leans against the glass door, keeping his eyes locked on his rival. The sun is setting over Tokyo, washing Akechi in a golden light. His long caramel hair is dancing in the wind, mesmerizing Akira, and a comfortable silence settles between the two. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, before the silence is broken by Akechi clearing his throat. 

“How’s the search for the culprit going?” he asks, his back still turned towards Akira.

“Sae said he got away,” Akira admits hesitantly. “The cops are keeping their eyes out for him. But… Sae and I are both just glad that you’re fine. Right now, that’s more important than catching the culprit.”

Akechi finally turns to face Akira, a deep frown on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you gotta stop being this fucking reckless,” Akira grits out, bringing his hand up to his face to tug at his bangs. “You keep putting your life on the line for your cases. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself killed one day. Your life is more important than your work, you know.”

“I’ll be fine. Stop butting into my affairs,” Akechi hisses, sending Akira a venomous glare. Then he half turns towards the railing, looking down at the people below.

“No, I don’t think I will stop. Not if you refuse to look after yourself, Akechi,” Akira responds, biting his lip.

“You— God, you piss me off so much,” Akechi growls. “Okay. Maybe I am being reckless. But can you blame me? I have nothing worth living for these days. I’ve worked towards getting revenge on my shitty excuse of a father my whole life. It was everything to me, and my life was supposed to end together with my father’s. So what is there left for me to do now, Kurusu? Enlighten me.”

Akechi’s voice breaks at the last few words, and his shoulders start trembling a little. His eyes are hidden beneath his hair, but Akira feels like there are tears welling up in his eyes, and his own heart breaks for him.

“Don’t say you’ve got nothing worth living for,” he says quietly, his voice coming out strained. “There are people who care about you, you know. Sae and Ann and Ryuji and Sumire — they all care about you. And so do I.” He swallows, burying his hands deep in his pockets. “I get feeling a bit… lost, after everything is over. Looking for a purpose, and stuff. I feel the same. But we’re rivals— we’re friends, right? We can do it… together.”

Akechi whips around at that, glaring daggers at Akira. 

“Miss me with that sappy shit,” he spits. “All I want these days is something I can never have. You wouldn’t fucking get it, so just leave me alone.”

Akira’s face contorts. “That’s gonna be a bit difficult,” he starts cautiously. “The nurse said that you’ll, uh, need a caretaker for a while.”

“I don’t need anyone to be my caretaker, and especially not you,” Akechi snarls, narrowing his eyes. 

Figures. Akira sighs. “I know you’re not excited about this, and I won’t push you, but you won’t be getting rid of me that easily, either. You need help, Akechi. You’ll have to learn to ask for and accept it.”

“Fuck off,” Akechi hisses. “You’re the last person I want to help me. Let go of your stupid fucking savior complex for once and—”

He doesn’t get to continue; suddenly, the glass door gets pulled open behind Akira. He almost stumbles backwards, but catches himself at the last moment, coming face to face with a furious looking nurse. 

“Sir,” she starts, voice trembling, as she approaches Akechi with big steps. “You were told to rest. You can’t just disappear from your room without alerting a nurse.”

Akechi takes a deep breath, then puts on his sweetest Detective Prince-smile — it’s the first time he has used it since Akira has reunited with him, and it makes something twist in his stomach.

“My apologies,” he says smoothly, “my acquaintance wanted to discuss something with me. I shall return to my room now.” He walks past Akira without granting him as much as another glance, following the nurse back inside the building. 

Akira gets the message loud and clear — Akechi is done with this conversation. 

He takes a deep breath, looking up into the purple sky, the last rays of sunshine just peeking over the horizon.


It’s okay. Akira still has a few more days to convince Akechi — before his discharge — to accept his help.


He can do this.  

Chapter Text

Akira is woken up by the sound of someone rummaging through the café downstairs.

The attic of Leblanc is pitch black, and Akira sleepily blinks at his phone, the display telling him it’s not even five in the morning. Weird.

Sojiro shouldn’t be here at this hour of the day, and Morgana is rolled up next to him on the bed, seemingly in a deep slumber and unbothered by the sounds downstairs. 

Akira knits his eyebrows, his concern about a potential burglar growing the more clarity he gains. He sits up, trying to make as little noise as possible, and grabs the baseball bat leaning against one of his shelves. Then, he stalks downstairs, careful to not make a sound on the old, creaky stairs of Leblanc.

It’s dark downstairs, but he can vaguely make out a silhouette behind the counter. He swallows as he reaches for the light switch, keeping the baseball bat close to his body as he flips the switch—

Then, a shriek rings through the café, followed by the ear-shattering sound of a dropped plate.

Akira blinks a few times, his eyes trying to adjust to the bright lights, and it takes a few seconds before he can fully take in the scene before him.

Standing behind the counter, in front of the fridge, is Futaba — eyes wide open, arm stretched out in front of her body as if to defend herself. At her feet, on the floor, is a dropped plate of curry.

A beat passes, and then Futaba’s body relaxes, arms slumping down as she exhales. “Oh. It’s just you.”

A small voice perks up behind Akira. “What the heck. I could say the same,” Morgana grouches, evidently irritated about being woken up. He yawns loudly before climbing up the stairs again. “I’ll go back to sleep.”

Akira swallows, putting down the baseball bat and reaching out to grab the broom leaning against the bathroom door instead. He starts sweeping up the shards as Futaba backs out quietly, slipping into one of the booths. 

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Akira finally asks, when the silence between them threatens to become awkward.

“Hm. Couldn’t sleep. I got hungry, and we didn’t have anything good at home. Really wanted some curry,” she murmurs, hiding her head in her arms.

“I’m gonna heat up another portion for you.” Akira smiles clumsily as he cleans up the rest of the mess. 

Futaba hums, silence settling between the two as Akira retrieves another plate of curry from the fridge to reheat.

It’s only when he slips into the booth, sinking down on the seat next to Futaba as he places the plate in front of her, that she clears her throat. “I… uhm, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Me too,” Akira sighs, placing his hands on his lap. “I really want to… apologize for not telling you sooner. It was shitty to bombard you with that information in an emergency situation. I was just…” He exhales deeply. “I was just scared.”

Futaba shakes her head, long orange strands of hair flying everywhere. “It’s okay. Really. I’m not mad at you. It was just… a lot,” she says quietly, picking up her spoon and stirring the curry, before she hesitantly starts to eat. “When Akechi was still missing, it was easier to… put off thinking about him,” she murmurs between bites. “You know, it always circled back to my mom, and I didn’t feel ready to truly sort out my feelings about the whole thing. But tonight, after everything that went down, I just… couldn’t sleep. My thoughts started spiraling, and I…”

Futaba audibly swallows before she falls silent. She puts down her spoon, staring at the half-eaten plate of curry.

“I did some digging tonight,” Futaba says quietly, cautiously, kneading her fingers together. “In… in my mom's files. I wanted to know more about what connection she and Akechi had.”

She falls quiet again, and Akira nods at her, silently encouraging her to continue.

Futaba takes a deep breath. “She was… involved in certain experiments. Akechi was the only person they had that could traverse the Metaverse, so he became their…” She gulps, and continues, more quietly, “…their lab rat, pretty much.” 

“… Oh.” Akira feels his stomach drop at the implications. 

“I found a lot of files on the tests they did, and I couldn’t… even bring myself to read them all. But— it was these experiments that made Akechi able to wield two Personas, use Call of Chaos, and so on. The way Akechi broke people’s minds… they experimented with that stuff on him first.”

She exhales, turning to look at Akira, who can’t do anything but stare at her wide-eyed; he needs a moment to process that information. But he doesn’t get that moment, the words continuing to spill out of Futaba. “I loved my mom. More than anyone. But to Akechi, she was— she was probably just some mad scientist experimenting on him. And when he got the order to assassinate her, he must have been— barely fifteen. He was just a kid following his shitty father’s orders.”

Tears well up in her eyes. “I want to hate him, Akira. I want to hate him so bad— he took my mom from me. But I just— I just can’t bring myself to really despise him. Not considering these circumstances. Is— is that bad?”

The tears are streaming down her face now, and Akira quickly draws her into a tight hug. “I can’t— I can’t forgive him,” she continues between hiccups. “But I— can’t hate him, either. Isn’t that weird, Akira? Doesn’t it make me an awful daughter to think this way?”

Akira tightens the hug, bringing one hand up to her head to give her a few reassuring pats.

“No,” he whispers, “it just makes you human.”

They both fall quiet, only Futaba’s sobs and occasional hiccups filling the silence. Akira keeps holding her small, trembling body in his arms, squeezing her tightly, even long after the first rays of sunshine start peeking through the curtains of Leblanc. 

Eventually, Futaba’s sobs die down, and she slowly pulls away from Akira as she takes a few deep breaths.

“I want to give Akechi a second chance,” she admits quietly. “I can’t forgive him, but I still want to give him a second chance. I… probably need more time, though.”

“Yeah,” Akira smiles sadly. “He’s a bit… grouchy right now, having to deal with the recovery and all. It’s probably not the right time for this, anyway.”

“But!” Futaba perks up, pointing her index finger at Akira, eyes still puffy from crying, but determined. “Even if I’m not ready, that doesn’t mean you should feel guilty about wanting to be with him. You’re your own person. I know you like him, and I won’t hold that against you.” 

“Futaba…” Akira breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. His friends are amazing; he was a fool for ever keeping secrets from them. 

He gives Futaba another few pats on the head, smiling at her as she gobbles down the rest of her curry at record speed.

When Morgana descends the stairs again, a little while later, Akira gives him a relieved thumbs up.

“Don’t you want to take the day off? You don’t look… great, lately.” Shiho tilts her head a little, shooting Akira a concerned look, and he tries to put on a weak smile for her sake.

“I’m good,” he lies, grabbing the watering can and tending to the flowers before Shiho can get a better look at the dark circles under his eyes.

It’s not like he was trying to stay up late on purpose — Morgana would never allow that. It just so happens that his thoughts start spiralling whenever he lies down at night, but it’s not like taking a day off work would change that.

“How have you been?” Akira asks Shiho to divert the attention from himself. “Have you talked to Ann lately?”

He turns around a little, just in time to watch a blush creep up Shiho’s cheeks. 

“Yes,” she says, smiling shyly. “I had a long talk with her yesterday. It was… the first time in a long while that we could talk like that. It was nice.” She sighs wistfully, playing with the hem of her shirt.

Akira knows the two of them have grown a little distant over the years in an attempt to conceal their feelings for each other. It hurt him to watch — Ann manipulating her own relationship with her best friend as she was struggling to cope with her feelings for Shiho. So he can’t help but feel relieved; Ann and Shiho can’t live without each other, and it was about time they realized that as well, no matter if they are dating or not.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, putting down the watering can. “Maybe you should go visit her in New York sometime.”

Shiho’s face lights up. “We were talking about that as well. Ann said she’s got a week off next month. Maybe I… will visit her for that.”

“Good idea. I’m sure she’d be happy,” Akira agrees eagerly, wishing he could push for the trip to happen even earlier.

It’s not just about fixing the relationship between the two girls. Frankly, Akira has been worried about the kidnapping case and Shiho's possible involvement in it.

Akechi has mentioned the previous victims all being ‘slim, on the taller side, with shoulder-length black hair’ — all these attributes fit Shiho. Akira has felt uneasy since, about Shiho spending so much time at the mall where the kidnapper is most active. Especially since he got away, and there’s no way of telling when he will strike next. 

Akira will just have to make sure to keep an eye on Shiho until next month, still a bit too far away, but better than nothing. Then she will be away from all this, and safe.

He glances at the clock hanging on the wall.

Akira has barely been at the shop for an hour, but it already feels like an eternity; possibly because he’s planning to visit Akechi later today, and he’s already dreading it. Something tells him it won’t be any easier to get Akechi to accept his help this time around, but after talking to Futaba — after hearing from her what Akechi supposedly had to go through as a child — he’s more determined than ever to offer him a helping hand.

And if Akechi gets angry at him again, Akira will deal with it, somehow.

He notices some regulars — the chatty old ladies — approaching the shop, and quickly strolls over to the counter so Shiho won’t have to deal with them alone.

Meanwhile, his phone keeps buzzing in his pocket; most likely it’s just the Thieves’ group chat. Usually he wouldn't mind checking his phone later, but the recent happenings have made him a little anxious. And so, it becomes progressively harder to focus on the leisure conversation with the old ladies about their rude neighbors and whatever other gossip they had.

When Shiho finally gets their attention for a few moments to recommend some seedlings for their gardens, Akira uses the opportunity to stealthily fish his phone out of his pocket.

As expected, it’s the Thieves’ group chat that has been responsible for the flood of notifications — and the first unread message he spots has his stomach twist a bit in concern.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)

[11:35] Violet: I’ve been wondering!
[11:36] Violet: Now that Akechi-senpai is back, shouldn’t we add him back to the group chat? It would be convenient for organizing care for him as well!

Oh, Sumi… Akira sighs. He’s glad that she seems to be fond of Akechi after everything the three of them went through, but she doesn’t really seem to understand just how… conflicted other members of their group feel about him. The next two messages confirm his worries.

[11:59] Queen: I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, if I’m being honest.
[12:10] Noir: I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Mako-chan… I was okay with it when we were all working together, but I don’t know if I want him to be part of the group now.
[12:36] Skull: but dunno
[12:36] Skull: feels kinda weird to exclude him, doesnt it
[12:38] Panther: Yeah, he was a Phantom Thief after all, even if it was only temporarily…

Akira blinks at spotting Ann’s name in the group chat. It must be around midnight for her — hopefully she’s not losing sleep because of Shiho’s upcoming visit, though he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case. 

He wasn’t able to update Ann on his conversation with the Thieves yet, besides a short text. It appears she caught on quickly, though.

[12:45] Queen: Maybe, but I’m putting Haru’s feelings over Akechi-kun’s, and you as her friends should, too.
[12:47] Panther: Are you seriously implying we don’t care about Haru?
[12:48] Skull: ugh cmon please don’t fight over this
[12:50] Noir: Mako-chan, it’s okay. I… I will think about it.
[12:50] Noir: Futaba-chan, what do you say?
[12:51] Oracle: i dont know
[12:51] Oracle: i mean
[12:52] Oracle: akechi avoided us all for five years, i doubt he would even wanna be here anyway
[12:55] Queen: Still, neither of you should push themselves.
[12:55] Queen: I’m against it, to be honest.
[12:58] Fox: Personally, I would be happy to welcome him back here. But I understand everyone’s feelings.
[13:05] Violet: Oh… I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would be such a controversial suggestion…
[13:08] Noir: Don’t worry about it, Sumire! I think I just… need some time to think about it.

Akira groans. What a mess he has returned to. He appreciates Sumi, Ryuji and Ann sticking up for Akechi, but he doesn’t want everyone’s conflicting opinions on him to tear apart the group. He should put a stop to this for now, until he can come up with a solution.

[13:10] Joker: sorry that i’ve missed this conversation, i’m at work
[13:10] Joker: let’s talk about it later. please don’t fight over it

He sighs, turning off his phone again when another customer approaches the shop. 

This is something he’ll have to deal with later. For now, getting Akechi to even cooperate with him, to accept care and help, has priority.

When Akira enters Akechi’s hospital room, he finds his rival seated in his bed, staring down at a bowl of soup in his lap. The spoon is lying on the table next to the bed, seemingly untouched, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on.

“Hi,” Akira greets Akechi, walking over to his bed and placing his bag on the floor. “How are you feeling today?”

“Awful. Thanks for asking,” Akechi grumbles, his eyes staying locked on the bowl of soup. “Any news on the case?”

Akira shakes his head. “Nothing new, according to Sae. Maybe the culprit is done kidnapping people. The police still need to find the missing women, but the investigation kind of came to a standstill.”

“I figured. Incompetent bastards,” Akechi comments dryly. 

Akira shrugs, then points at the bowl of soup on Akechi’s lap. “Why did you not get a nurse to help you?” he asks, using his other hand to scratch his neck out of habit.

Akechi turns his head at him, face falling into a frown. “They tried. I assured them I don’t need help until they left me alone.”

Akira raises an eyebrow. “Well, that worked out great for you, didn’t it.”

“Fuck you,” Akechi mutters. 

Akira sighs, sinking down on the chair next to the hospital bed, reaching for the bowl on Akechi's lap and putting it on his own. Then he grabs the spoon from the shelf, dunking it into the soup bowl.

“Open wide.”

Akechi glares at him. “You’re not going to feed me.”

“So you just wanna starve?”

“I won’t. I’ll ask a nurse to help me later.”

“Call them now. You really should eat.”

“I’m not hungry right now.” 

“You’re so full of bullshit.”

Akechi’s eyes widen at the accusation. He opens his mouth to retort, but before he can utter a word, he’s betrayed by the growling of his stomach. 

“See?” Akira sighs, lifting the spoon up in front of Akechi’s face. “Now stop being a baby and eat the damn soup.”

Akechi’s cheeks are bright red, and Akira isn’t sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger — but suddenly, a leg flies in his direction, kicking the bowl from his lap to the ground with a loud thud, soup spilling all over the hospital floor. 

Then, Akechi’s legs land on the floor, and he awkwardly gets up from his bed, glaring daggers at Akira.

“Okay. If you want to continue our last conversation that badly, so be it,” Akechi spits, looking down at Akira, who’s still sitting in his chair, too stunned to speak. “I’m sick and tired of you and your fucking savior complex. Can’t you wrap your head around the fact that not everyone wants to be helped by you? Does it hurt your ego that much? I will do you the favor of repeating myself: Fuck off, and leave me alone.” 

Akira groans, standing up from his chair to meet Akechi’s challenging gaze. 

“Stop saying I have a savior complex just because I want to help you,” he says through gritted teeth. “Newsflash, Akechi. I care about you. People tend to help those they care about. It’s got nothing to do with having a savior complex.” 

“You have no fucking reason to care about me,” Akechi growls. “So stop fooling yourself.”

“I just don’t get it,” Akira says, shaking his head. “Why do you keep running from me? Why do you keep running from anyone who tries to help you? Why can’t you just accept that I want you in my life, and that I want to—” 

“You’re wasting your energy on a dead man!”


Akechi’s shout echoes through the room, followed by silence. 

Akira opens his mouth, then closes it again, unable to say anything as Akechi’s words slowly sink in, making the world around him spin.

“What… what do you mean?” he finally manages to grit out, his voice barely audible.

Akechi huffs, his gaze falling down on the floor. “I mean it how I said it. You wanted to know how I survived Shido’s ship, right? Here’s your answer: I don’t fucking know.” His voice cracks a little at the last sentence. “I should be dead. I very vividly remember dying. I was dragged back to life by Maruki, and when his palace collapsed, I felt myself vanishing from existence again. But then I suddenly woke up, on the street in front of the diet building. I was heavily injured, and had to spend a few weeks in rehab before I got discharged — and since then, everything just feels wrong to me. Something is just… off, like I shouldn’t be here.”

Akira’s blood runs cold at the implications. He takes a few shaky breaths, then whispers, “You mean…?” He stops halfway through the sentence, his voice threatening to break.

“I mean that there must be some Metaverse-related reason for why I’m still here,” Akechi mutters, looking up at Akira with tired eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But it’s very well possible that I may just disappear one day. Or, worse, we’ll be forced to make a choice again.” He purses his lips, breaking eye contact with Akira. “That’s why I wanted to stay hidden from you. I know how close you were to taking Maruki’s deal, despite everything I’ve done to you, because you can't accept having someone die on your watch. If we’re forced to make the same choice again, it will be easier if we aren’t… rivals, or friends, or whatever you want to call it. Easier for you, and… for me as well.” 

Akechi bites his lip, falling silent, and settling for standing there, avoiding eye contact. 

It gives Akira the time to process everything that was just said, staring at the spoon in his hand, the remains of soup dripping onto the floor rhythmically.

It’s unfair, Akira thinks. Everything is so fucking unfair.

Sometimes it truly feels like the universe has conspired against Akechi. He’s been dealt a shitty hand from the very beginning, has been used and then abandoned again and again his whole life. Akira thinks back to his conversation with Futaba, the mind-breaking experiments she mentioned, how Akechi had to go through this as a child, with no one to lean on. When Akira finally met him, it was already too late to save him, Akechi being too far gone on his path of self-destruction. Akechi sacrificed his life twice, and, if what he said is true, he may have to do it a third time.

It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

Akira feels the sting of tears in his eyes, and tries his hardest to blink them away. 

In a split moment, he makes a decision — he’s going to indulge; finally do the one thing he has wanted to do since that cursed February night.

Metal clanks against the floor when Akira drops the spoon, taking a step forward. Akechi startles, his eyes widening, but before he can flinch away—

Akira wraps his arms around Akechi, pulling him into a hug. 

He feels Akechi’s body tensing, shifting uncomfortably in Akira’s arms.

“Let go, Kurusu.” His voice is strained, barely coming out as a whisper.

“No,” Akira sniffs, tightening the hug instead. “I’m tired of you thinking you have to shoulder everything on your own. If it’s true that you’re only here because of the Metaverse, then we’ll find out how we can fix it and save you — together.” 

Akira inhales, threading his hand through Akechi’s tousled hair. He keeps speaking, his voice soft, barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to deal with everything by yourself. Whether it’s your injuries, or your work, or finding a new purpose — or figuring out what happened after the events on Shido’s ship. Let me help you for once.”

The room falls silent for a few seconds. Akira hears Akechi’s shaky breath, feels his heartbeat against his own chest, and just prays that his words will reach his rival.

Then, he hears Akechi swallow.

“Kurusu,” he starts, voice so low and threatening that it makes a chill run down Akira’s spine. “Let me go, for fuck’s sake.”

Akira hesitates for a moment — and suddenly, he feels a sharp sting at his neck.

He pulls away, grasping his neck with his hand. When he removes it again, it’s stained with blood.

Akechi spits on the floor, and when Akira looks down at the floor tiles, he sees saliva mixed with blood. He turns to look at Akechi, who’s staring at him with wide, panicked eyes, his bandaged arms shaking.

Oh. 

Akechi bit him. He couldn’t break free from Akira’s hug using his arms, so he used his teeth instead.

Akira has messed up.

“Akechi—” Akira starts, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Get out,” Akechi interrupts him, seething anger evident in his voice. Akira doesn’t move, too stunned to speak, so Akechi repeats, louder this time, “Get the fuck out.” 

“Akechi, please,” Akira pleads. He can’t blame Akechi for being angry at him, but if only he could hear him out—

“Leave me alone. Don’t contact me anymore. How many times do I have to tell you that I fucking hate you!?” Akechi seethes, his expression almost turning manic. “Just go. Don’t fucking come back. I don’t wanna hear from you ever again.” 

Akira doesn’t move an inch, trying his hardest to find the right words, but they keep dying on his tongue.

After another tense moment of silence, Akechi clicks his tongue in frustration, walks over to the door, pushes down the handle using his right hand with a pained groan, and steps outside.

From the other side, he gives the door a strong kick, and it slams shut with a loud bang that makes Akira flinch.

And Akira stays there, staring at the closed door for a long time.

The Phantom Thieves (retired)


[22:03] Joker: hey
[22:04] Joker: don’t worry about the akechi thing anymore. he’s gone and i don’t think he’ll come back
[22:04] Skull: ???
[22:05] Queen: What do you mean, Akira?
[22:05] Joker: i fucked up
[22:06] Joker: i don’t think he wants to see me anymore
[22:06] Joker: but hey, at least that means you guys won’t have to worry about how to deal with him anymore
[22:09] Noir: Oh, Akira…
[22:10] Skull: shit, dude
[22:10] Oracle: did he block you?
[22:10] Oracle: i can hack his phone to make him unblock you, you know
[22:11] Joker: no, it’s okay, futaba
[22:11] Joker: leave him alone
[22:11] Joker: this one’s on me

Akira turns off his display, hiding his head in his arms.

Two days have passed since Akechi’s outburst, and Akira has been unable to get a hold of him ever since. Apparently he has checked himself out of the hospital and disappeared off the face of earth — at least, he hasn’t been to his office either, and neither Akira nor Sae have his home address. How Akechi is able to handle life by himself with his injuries is beyond Akira, but if he knows one thing about Akechi, it is that spite is his strongest motivator.

At the very least, Akira knows that he is alive and fine — finding that his number has been blocked by Akechi was almost relieving. Akira knows he has crossed Akechi’s unspoken boundary, and he feels awful about it. He will have to give Akechi some space, as hard as it is.

His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his phone, and when he picks it up again, he finds that Ann is calling him. He steels his nerves for a moment, then answers the call. “Hey, Ann.”

“What happened, Akira? Did you two fight?” his friend asks incredulously. Straight to the point, huh. 

“Kind of,” Akira says, glumly. “I tried to comfort him, because he keeps shouldering everything by himself, but I… I overstepped. He must have felt so caged, and I didn’t even realize. It’s my fault.”

“Akira…” Ann sighs, and it sounds like she wants to say something else, but is struggling to find the right words.

“This was the second time he has told me to my face that he hates me,” Akira mutters. “I used to think he's just saying that because he’s struggling with expressing his emotions, but maybe I read too much into it. Maybe he just really can’t stand me and that’s all there is to it.”

“No!” Ann exclaims loudly. Then a second, softer, “No…”

There’s an audible exhale at the other side of the line.

“I… just don’t think that’s the case. I don’t know. He’s complicated, isn’t he.” She sighs. “Maybe you should just give him the space he needs. Considering how much has happened since you two met again… maybe it’s all freaking him out a bit.”

“Probably,” Akira says dejectedly. The thought of Akechi disappearing from his life once again hurts more than he cares to admit. But Ann is right — pushing Akechi too much has always had the opposite of the desired effect. He needs to give him space and let him approach their relationship on his own terms — if he even wants one at all. 

But also, Akechi is self-destructive, and that worries Akira. Will he even be okay if no one is there to look after him?

Akira sighs, closing his eyes. 

He may be overthinking this — Akechi was doing fine without Akira, after all. It is just about whether or not he will accept Akira back into his life, and that decision is up to Akechi alone. 

For now, all Akira can do is wait.

Chapter Text

Goro impatiently drums his fingers against the table.

He’s not quite sure why his informant insisted on meeting up at a nightclub, in the red-light district of Shinjuku out of all places, when this could have been done anywhere else. Even worse, his informant hasn’t arrived yet, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand being in this place on his own. Goro really, really wants to go home.

Someone on the table behind him suddenly laughs loudly, and it makes Goro flinch, his left arm slightly bumping against the table and shooting a wave of pain through his body. It has been a few weeks since his motorbike accident, and his right arm has mostly recovered, but his left arm is still in a splint and pretty much unusable. It is a little inconvenient sometimes, considering Goro is left-handed, but, at the very least, he was finally able to resume his investigation on the kidnapping case.

Today he’s supposed to meet with Ohya Ichiko, a journalist he still knows back from his Detective Prince days, and has occasionally been in contact with regarding some of his cases. 

At first, he kind of assumed that she didn’t remember him anymore; after the incident in Shido’s palace, it appeared he was mostly erased from the public’s cognition. People generally didn’t recognize him as the teen detective from years ago, even before he forged a fake identity for himself just to be safe. But Ohya was an exception, like so many people affiliated with Kurusu Akira.

Kurusu.

Goro’s brow twitches in irritation at his own train of thought, making him recall Kurusu once again. Goro hasn’t reached out to him ever since their fight at the hospital, a few weeks back, and he intends to keep it this way — it’s better like this. Goro can’t handle Kurusu, and Kurusu is better off without Goro. And when the day comes where Goro will inevitably disappear again, at least they won’t have to mourn what could have been.

It’s alright. It’s fine. He can ignore the growing knot in his stomach. He definitely does not miss Kurusu.

Goro bites his lip until he feels the metallic taste of blood on his tongue to stop himself from ruminating further. Luckily, it’s at this moment that he sees a figure approaching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Akechi-kun!” Ohya waves at him, sinking down on the chair opposite of him. “You look good—” she attempts to say, but then her gaze falls on Goro’s bandaged left arm, and she raises an eyebrow. “Never mind. What happened?” 

“Motorbike accident,” Goro mutters, propping his chin on his right hand. “Had to put the case on-hold for a while. But I’m getting back to it now.”

Ohya huffs, crossing her arms at him. “Somehow I’m not surprised. I only saw you on your bike once, but you drive like a lunatic. You’re lucky your injuries weren’t worse. Anyway—” she puts both her hands on the table, beaming at him, “Let’s talk about the case. I have some news for you.”

She pulls something out of her bag and, a second later, slides three photos across the table. They show a young woman with shoulder-length, slightly curled and pitch-black hair, posing for the camera — a professional model, by the looks of it.

“Does she look similar to the kidnapping victims?” Ohya asks.

Goro studies the photos, analyzing the woman’s facial features; big, round eyes, pronounced eyebrows, a slim nose, full lips. In his mind, he compares them to the photos from the case files he got from Sae a week ago.

“Yes, she does resemble them,” he eventually replies. “Who is she?”

Ohya shoots him a triumphant look. “I had a feeling. Her name was Fukase Aiko, stage name: Shion. Worked as a model and idol. Committed suicide five years ago.”

“Shion…” Goro hums. Asters. Another kind of purple flower. Interesting. 

In the past weeks, two more of the missing women turned up dead, leaving only one victim yet to be found. The crime scenes always looked similar; the victims got stabbed by a sharp object, their corpses left on the ground, and the culprit arranged bouquets of flowers around them. The kind of flower differed each time, but strikingly, they were all purple. 

Ever since Kurusu made that comment about the culprit probably trying to recreate a funeral, Goro hasn’t been able to shake off the thought of a potential copycat — someone imitating a previous case. Sae went through old case files in search of people who resemble the current victims, but the attributes they share are too common, and she was unable to find a specific case that could be connected.

They had to find another common aspect that would link a previous case to this one; and Goro had an idea. Once he resumed his investigation, he asked Ohya Ichiko for help — as a journalist, she was oftentimes more aware of the victim’s personal lives than the police. It was a shot in the dark, but he asked Ohya to search for a death case their newspaper covered that had any link to flowers — and her search was successful.

Goro turns his attention back to the present: Ohya, who orders a beer from a passing waiter.

“Shion was apparently known in the idol fanbase for being a huge lover of flowers,” Ohya says with a smirk. “Hence, her stage name.”

The waiter places a beer glass in front of her, and she greedily takes a huge sip.

“And there’s more: A journalist friend of mine covered quite the scandal surrounding her, shortly before her death.” 

Goro knits his brows. “A scandal?”

“Well, you know how it is with idols,” Ohya shrugs. “Relationship talk is taboo. But they found out she had a long-time boyfriend, and was planning to get married. And hear this—” She points her index finger at Goro. “The boyfriend was a gardener and florist. Apparently, the reason why she was so obsessed with flowers was because they reminded her of her boyfriend. Specifically, she loved the flowers her boyfriend planted in their garden — different kinds, but all purple.” 

Goro perks up at that. There’s no definite proof these two cases are related, but this would be quite the coincidence.

Still, there is one thing bugging him. “It was a suicide?” Goro asks. “Not a murder?”

If this was a murder case, it would increase the chance of a copycat being at work — an obsessive fan of the idol, for example. But a suicide doesn’t quite fit into the picture.

“Most likely,” Ohya says. “I did some digging as well, in case it was a cover-up, but everything points towards the official statement being true. She locked herself in the bathroom and slit her wrists.” 

Goro swallows. Unwanted imagines start flooding his mind — his mother’s still figure in the bathtub, blood streaming out of her wrists painting the water red, so much blood—

He grips the edges of the table hard, taking a deep breath. This isn’t the right time to think about that. 

“Why—” His voice comes out strained, and he has to take a moment to clear his throat. “Why did she kill herself?” 

Ohya stares down at the glass in her hand. “Apparently, the fact that she had a fiancé caused quite the shitstorm,” she sighs. “People started stalking and threatening her. And then, her agency fired her the day before her suicide. It was probably her last straw.” 

Goro exhales, relieved to see the similarities between the idol and his mother end. “Makes sense.”

Bringing a hand to his chin, Goro starts cataloging all the information Ohya presented him with. It could turn out to be entirely unrelated to the current kidnapping case, but it could also become the hint they needed to solve the puzzle. Ohya downs the rest of her beer, then orders another one, while the cogs in Goro’s brain keep turning.

A gardener boyfriend, huh. 

“Ohya-san, can you get me some more information on that boyfriend of hers?” he asks the journalist.

“Sure thing, boss.” She grins, bringing up her hand to her head in a mock salute that makes Goro roll his eyes a little, before she turns her attention towards her beer again.

It’s quite curious. Goro would have to revisit a certain case file when he’s back at his office. To think that these cases were happening at the same time… 

He gets lost deeper in his thoughts, and his eyes drift over to a waitress tending to a customer in another corner of the bar. The woman stands out quite a lot; she’s tall, probably around the same height as Goro, and has pretty broad shoulders. She’s wearing a short-sleeve button-up under a vest and a skin-tight skirt covering half of her muscular calves. Her back is turned towards Goro, face obstructed by long, voluminous, black curls. 

The customer tells her something, and when she replies, Goro squints his eyes at her.

Her voice is deep, a smooth, low baritone.

It sounds oddly familiar. 

“Oh! Kurusu!” Ohya suddenly exclaims, and the waitress — Kurusu fucking Akira — turns around, gray eyes growing impossibly wide when they meet Goro’s. 

“What the fuck,” Goro starts incredulously when Kurusu walks over to their table, “are you doing here, Kurusu?” 

“Uhm,” he says eloquently, attempting to push up glasses that aren’t even on his face right now. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“No, I don’t think I fucking do,” Goro hisses. 

“Oh, right!” Ohya beams. “I almost forgot you two know each other. But I suppose you weren’t aware of Kurusu working here, Akechi-kun.”

Goro raises an eyebrow at Kurusu. “You work here?”

“Part-time job,” Kurusu shrugs. “I’ve had this one since I was in high school. Back then I was only working behind the bar, but a while ago Lala-chan — the bar owner — told me I had the perfect face for crossdressing. I think she’s right, I quite like this,” he grins, spinning around once to show off his outfit. Goro’s eyes drift down to the skin-tight skirt, and he mentally slaps himself, forcing himself to look up again. Kurusu continues undeterred, “Anyway, can I get you two something else to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Goro grumbles. “I think I’ll be taking my leave soon.”

“...Oh.” Kurusu’s face falls, and he starts fidgeting with his hair extensions. “Hey, uh… you don’t have to leave because of me. You’re working with Ohya on a case, right? Just pretend I’m not here, then.”

“He’s right,” Ohya drawls, and the tone of her voice is starting to sound a little drunk. Goro has to suppress an irritated sigh. “I went through a lotta trouble to get you this information, ya know. Don’t leave me hanging now.”

“Good luck on the case,” Kurusu says, then visibly swallows. “I’ll… see you around, I guess.” He turns around and walks away, approaching a different table.

Ohya immediately continues her report. “You know, that journalist friend of mine who covered that scandal? Turns out, she blames herself for what happened to Shion pretty badly. She told me that—”

Ohya continues recounting something about her colleague, and with each sip she takes from her glass, her rambling becomes a little more incoherent. Goro has trouble keeping up, and before he knows it, his eyes drift back over to Kurusu, who’s currently carrying a tray with two glasses to the table next to them. Two girls are seated at the table, giggling when Kurusu approaches them, one of them wearing a bright red flush on her cheeks.

“Kurusu-kun!” she exclaims excitedly. Goro doesn’t recognize her as one of Kurusu’s friends, but she may be one of the regulars at the bar. “You look so good in drag,” she continues. “It’s almost unfair that someone can be so handsome both as a guy and as a girl. Seriously, you’re a prettier girl than me!”

Kurusu grins, sheepishly rubbing his neck. “Thank you. But no need to be so modest. You’re quite the catch yourself, wouldn’t you say?” He winks at the girl, who breaks out into a wide smile.

“Kurusu-kun, you’re such a sweet talker!” her friend laughs, and Kurusu shrugs at her.

“How could I not be, when I’m surrounded by such charming ladies?” He smirks, and both girls are unable to conceal a squeal.

Goro follows the exchange with a frown, feeling something twist deep in his gut at Kurusu’s obnoxious flirting. 

Goro isn’t stupid; he knows what it is. Had it been six years ago, he would’ve been able to deny it — he was very good at that, back then, too deep in his revenge plans to pay mind to the conflicting feelings blooming inside him.

Now, six years later, he unfortunately recognizes the ugly feeling of jealousy. 

Because of course, out of all the people in the world, the one he had to fall in love with was Kurusu Akira.

It’s almost ironic; it feels like yet another way for the godforsaken universe to punish him. Obviously, there is no way of those feelings being requited. For one, they’re both men. But also, Kurusu is a hero, Goro is the villain of his story — those were the paths they chose, and Goro doesn’t regret any of it. After all, it was all for his greater goal; Kurusu was a mere obstacle on his path to revenge against his asshole of a father, and eliminating that obstacle was a necessary course of action for 18-year-old Goro.

He wasn’t planning to make it to nineteen anyway.

Neither did he plan for the other boy to survive, and for said boy to wish Goro back to life in a false reality out of some misplaced fucking sentimentality.

So here Goro is, almost twenty-four years old, in love with a man who would never reciprocate his feelings — and yet Kurusu refused to cut ties with him, insisting on following his every step like a puppy that whole April, once again making everything so much harder than it needed to be.

At the very least, Goro’s outburst seems to finally have made Kurusu understand that they’re better off without each other. 

He watches his former rival, who is irritatingly still flirting with the two giggling girls, and he wishes he could get up and punch him, hard, at this very moment. Though, really, he only has himself to blame — why did Goro ever think he was special for the flirty remarks Kurusu occasionally flung at him? It was so obvious that Kurusu is doing this sort of thing with everyone, that it means nothing to him; worst case, he was even mocking Goro. 

He barely realizes how hard he’s digging his fingernails into his palms, his knuckles pale and trembling. He spares Ohya a glance, her eyes slowly narrowing at him — she seems to have noticed that Goro’s attention strayed away.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“My apologies. You kind of strayed from the topic,” Goro hisses, and Ohya pouts at him — but her face lights up again soon enough, when a waiter places the third beer of the evening in front of her, and she happily starts gulping it down.

Goro’s attention falls back on Kurusu, who just passed their table, when suddenly a clearly drunk man appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hello, beautiful,” he coos at Kurusu with a sly grin, his speech coming out slurred. “You got any plans tonight?”

Goro balls his hands into fists under the table.

“I’m sorry,” Kurusu laughs. “If that was supposed to be a pick-up attempt, I’m afraid it won’t work on me.” He attempts to move past the man, who suddenly reaches out to grab Kurusu’s wrist. 

“Don’t be a killjoy,” he says, readily intruding Kurusu’s personal space. The man brings up his other hand, slowly dragging his fingers over Kurusu’s exposed forearm. Kurusu flinches a little, then grabs the man’s fingers, and by the way they are bending, Goro can tell he is squeezing them hard.

“Sir, I’ll have to ask you to stop that,” Kurusu then says in what must be his best customer service voice, a bright smile on his face. But his tone is wavering ever-so-slightly, and it’s evident how uncomfortable he is by the man’s advances.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the customer purrs, bringing his free hand up to Kurusu’s shoulder, then moves it over to his back, dragging him closer. “Let’s have a good time together.”

Kurusu’s eyes widen, and he looks frozen in place as the man’s hand slowly snakes down his back.

His eyes frantically dart across the room, and for a split moment, they meet Goro’s — his gaze is fearful, his pupils blown wide. Gray eyes that are begging, pleading, making a cold shiver run down Goro’s spine.


Suddenly, Goro sees red.

He can’t quite remember what happens next. It’s only when the assailant is lying face-down on the ground, wailing in pain as Goro stomps down on his back and pulls back his arm until it’s threatening to snap, and Kurusu is tugging on his sleeve, whispering a faint “It’s okay, Akechi,” that Goro regains some clarity again.

Looking around tells him a small crowd has gathered around Goro and the man on the ground. Watching, whispering to each other, some of them laughing. Ohya is standing amidst the crowd with wide eyes, swaying a little from one side to the other. The man on the ground is whining, crying out for ‘Lala-chan’ to help him, and soon enough, the bar owner approaches them with big steps.

“What happened here?” she asks sternly, sending Goro a deadly glare. “My bar is no place to pick fights.”

Goro clicks his tongue, finally letting go of the man’s arm, and the man immediately scrambles up to put some distance between them. He’s shivering, and his face looks so pathetic and punchable that Goro almost reels him back in, but he’s stopped by Kurusu’s grasp on his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry, Lala-chan,” Kurusu mutters. “I’ll explain it to you later.” Then he turns to meet Goro’s gaze, lowering his voice. “Let’s go outside.” He nudges him in the direction of the exit, and Goro sighs. He sends one last, venomous glare in the direction of the shivering man, then turns around to step outside the bar. 

Kurusu follows him into the cool evening air, exhaling deeply as soon as they’ve left the crowd of onlookers behind.

“Thank you for helping me,” he then says quietly, sheepishly playing with his bangs. “That was… it was scary.”

Goro hums. “Don’t thank me.” 

He sees his mother’s face before him, pale, terrified, as an unknown man tries to drag her somewhere.

Kurusu’s eyes are on him, and after a moment of hesitation, Goro continues, “I… had to watch my mom dealing with those kinds of people a lot. Back then, there wasn’t anything I could do. Now that I’m older, at least I can give guys like him the beating they deserve.” 

Kurusu smiles a little. “Don’t overdo it, though, or you’ll end up in trouble.” He swallows, his weak smile slowly dying on his face. “That guy was… he was wearing the same cologne as one of the cops who beat me up back then,” he whispers, and Goro whips around to stare at him wide-eyed. 

“I thought I was over it all, but… when I caught a whiff of that smell, it was like my body shut down. I couldn’t move at all— I felt so helpless. I still feel like I can smell him on my clothes.” He laughs humorlessly, rubbing his shoulder where the man touched him, as if he was trying to get his smell off. “Can’t believe I’m still acting this pathetic about that day.”

Goro swallows. “You know who put you through all that, right?” he asks quietly, unable to meet Kurusu’s eyes. When he takes a small step away from Kurusu, the other man’s hand shoots forward, clutching the sleeve of Goro’s right arm.

“I know. I don’t care,” Kurusu rasps. “I’m blaming the ones who actually kicked and drugged me, not you.” 

“That doesn’t make any damn sense,” Goro growls. “It’s because of me that you ended up in that situation.” 

“Whatever.” Kurusu shrugs his shoulders weakly. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now. Just…” His grip on Goro’s arm tightens. “Don’t leave again. Please.” His voice sounds so small and pathetic; Goro can’t recall ever seeing Kurusu like this, and it makes something painfully twist in his stomach. He doesn’t like it.

Goro sighs deeply. Well, he said it himself. He’s responsible that Kurusu ended up like this. At the very least, he could do him one little favor now.

“My apartment isn’t far from here. Take a shower if the smell bothers you. I’ll lend you a change of clothes.” 

He regrets it the moment those words leave his mouth, but he can’t exactly take it back, not when Kurusu’s head shoots up, and he stares at him with wide, stunned eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly.

Goro scrunches up his nose in response. “I’m not going to repeat myself. Take it or leave it.”

A small smile blooms on Kurusu’s face. “… Alright.” He looks back to the entrance of the bar, his features contorting. “… I’ll let Lala-chan know over text. Don’t worry, she’s a great person. She probably just got the wrong idea of what happened.” He swallows audibly. “Let’s just… leave this place for now. Please.” 

Goro sighs again and shoots Ohya a quick text message to let her know he’s going home; it’s not like he would’ve gained any more useful information from her tonight, anyway.

Then, he takes off in the direction of the nearby train station, Kurusu following closely behind him — maybe a little too closely, clenching the fabric of Goro’s shirt like a child afraid to get separated from their guardian. 

Goro doesn’t comment on it. If anything, he just wishes he had broken the assailant’s arm for real.

His apartment is only two stops from the bar, and the train ride passes in silence. It’s only when they step inside the apartment, Goro turns on the lights and Kurusu takes in the scenery with a stunned expression, that his former rival speaks up again.

“I was always wondering what your apartment’s like,” he says with a smirk. “It’s different to how I imagined it.”

Goro quirks an eyebrow. “How did you imagine it?”

Kurusu curiously peeks into the living room. It’s mostly empty beside a table, a chair, and a couch. Goro’s possessions are stored in a few cardboard boxes that are scattered across the room.

“Dunno. Less… bland? More decorated,” Kurusu says, bringing a hand up to his chin as if deeply lost in thought. “Maybe a little nerdy.”

“Careful what you say, Kurusu,” Goro grumbles, his brow twitching in irritation. He gestures over to the door at the end of the corridor. “The bathroom’s over there. Go take a shower. I’ll put a change of clothes in front of the door.”

Kurusu nods, scurrying over to the bathroom in quick steps, visibly relieved. Goro takes off his shoes and loosens his tie, doing his utmost to hold back another sigh when he feels a throbbing pain in his left arm. Obviously, the little stunt he pulled at the bar was too much for his injury. 

He’s about to enter the living room when he hears a faint “Hey, Akechi?” behind him. Turning around, he spots Kurusu peeking out from behind the bathroom door, and Goro raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Uhm…” Kurusu swallows. “Thank you.” 

His smooth, deep voice reverberates through the room, making Goro stare after him even long after the door has fallen shut. 

Oh, that bastard. 

Goro wonders if Kurusu knows what effect his stupidly deep voice has on him, but considering how effortlessly Kurusu does everything, he’d be surprised.

He groans, tossing some of his old pajamas at the bathroom door, then grabs his laptop before he sinks down at the kitchen table. He can’t let Kurusu distract him now — he needs to write down the newly acquired information on the kidnapping case quickly, before he forgets any of the details. 

With the steady sound of a running shower in the background, he sets to work.

By the time Kurusu re-emerges from the bathroom — no longer wearing makeup, but instead the borrowed pajamas, which definitely doesn’t make Goro feel a certain way — Goro has finished summarizing Ohya’s information on his laptop, and is currently chewing on a pencil as he tries to determine his next steps on the case. 

“I don’t think that’s very nutritious,” Kurusu grins at him. “Should I make you a proper dinner?” 

“Don’t bother,” Goro murmurs. “I ordered takeout.” 

Kurusu leans over Goro’s shoulder, humming as he looks at the file opened on his laptop. “Is this for the kidnapping case? Sae said it’s still unsolved, but she hasn’t filled me in on the details.” 

Goro looks to the side, catching a close glimpse of Kurusu’s gray eyes, adorned by long lashes, not obstructed by those hideous fake glasses for once. He swallows, his eyes drifting back to the laptop display.

“Yes. I got an interesting hint from Ohya today,” he says. “I don’t know for sure yet if it will lead anywhere, but the investigation has reached a dead end, and one of the women is still missing, so I’ll take anything I can get to solve it quickly.” He can’t hold back a frown. “At least the culprit didn’t kidnap any more people in the past weeks, but who knows when he will strike next.” 

“What about the car? Has it not turned up anywhere?” Kurusu asks.

“No. The culprit is probably hiding it in a private garage. I may not know his motives yet, but he’s certainly not stupid,” Goro grumbles. “The reason why the investigation isn’t making any progress is that he’s very careful about not leaving any traces behind. I don’t even know what the murder weapons were.”

“Huh,” Kurusu hums, crossing his arms. “When we met at the crime scene, you said the victim was stabbed. I assumed you just meant— you know, with a knife.”

“That’s the thing,” Goro mutters, his face darkening. “The stab wounds don’t look like they came from a knife. And, furthermore, they differed on each victim. It’s a little odd.” He lightly slaps his bandaged left arm. “It would all be a little easier if it wasn’t for this. It’s slowing me down on the investigation more than I thought it would.” 

“Well, it’s your dominant hand, after all,” Kurusu sighs. “I’m glad you were able to manage, though. Looks like it’s healing well.” 

A beat passes, the room falling into an uncomfortable silence.

“Uhm…” Kurusu then starts carefully. “I’m… sorry for what I did at the hospital. I wasn’t thinking. But I— I know I shouldn’t have done it, so I’m really—”

“Don’t,” Goro interrupts him, a little more harshly than intended. He pauses a moment, clearing his throat, then continues a bit softer, “Don’t bring it up. Just forget about it.”

Right now, he really doesn’t want to think about Kurusu’s hug, or how it made him feel. It was too much, and at the same time not enough, making his head spin whenever it crosses his mind.

He hated it, and he craved it. 

It was terrifying, a conflicting set of emotions that caused him to panic and bite Kurusu in the neck back then, and he would really, really like to just forget about the whole thing.

His eyes are locked on the laptop screen, but he hears a faint sigh of relief behind him.

“Alright,” Kurusu says softly, before breaking out into a deep yawn.

Then, Kurusu strides past Goro, approaching the couch at the other end of the room.

“I’m glad you’re talking to me again,” Kurusu chuckles, not facing Goro. “I was… starting to miss you. A lot.”

Goro freezes at those words, watching Kurusu stifle another yawn as he flops down on the couch. Kurusu couldn’t possibly mean that, could he? Not even he could be that sentimental.

Goro blinks a few times when the other man nestles into one of the cushions, his eyes slowly falling shut.

“You’re not sleeping here,” Goro says, narrowing his eyes.

“Mh,” Kurusu hums, “You gave me pajamas, obviously I’m gonna sleep here. And I’m tired. If you want me to go home now, you’ll have to carry me.”

Without even giving Goro a chance to reply or protest, Kurusu starts snoring, and Goro isn’t sure if he’s pretending or if he actually fell asleep, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Goro groans loudly, shutting his laptop and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

If there is one thing he has learned in the past two months, it’s that he cannot resist Kurusu Akira.