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To say there was something deeply wrong with Akechi Goro would be a grave understatement. It certainly wouldn’t be the most creative way of expressing that sentiment either, as exemplified by the multitudes of variations Akechi’s own brain supplied him with on an hourly basis.
The more time he spent with people who were far more well-adjusted than he, the more glaringly apparent it became.
He was “part of the group” now, or so they claimed. His perceptiveness would not allow him to miss the wary looks or the way the energy in the room dissipated when he reminded them that he was there by clearing his throat.
Yet they still insisted on inviting him to things and refused to accept his excuses. So he was damned to sit quietly at the Leblanc counter while the rest of them piled into a booth. Despite them being in the same room, there was a thick wall of glass between him and the rest of the thieves. He knew how strong it was because he’d forged it from sand and fire himself.
If he tried to shatter it, it would only leave his knuckles bloody and bruised beneath his gloves. Or even worse, if his hand managed to break through he would get shards of glass everywhere, sending them raining onto the people he’d distanced himself from and giving them yet another good reason to replace that wall with one made of steel.
Akechi had been nursing his fourth refill of Leblanc coffee when the noise level in the room started dwindling. He looked up to see the rowdy bunch walking out the door one by one, their continued conversations fading once they crossed the threshold. That was likely his cue to leave as well before he had the chance to use up more of Boss’s coffee beans.
Usually, once the Thieves all hurried off to do their own activities, the comfortable quiet that Akechi had come to treasure was all that remained. Which is why the unceasing yelling that went on irked him so much.
He did not know or care what Sakamoto and the cat were bickering about this time, only that it was noisy and this was a small space and he wanted to get away from it. Extracting his wallet, Akechi left his payment on the counter for Sojiro and thanked him for the coffee.
Unfortunately, something snagged onto his sweater just as he was leaving. He turned around to gently free it, only to find that that “something” was Sakamoto’s hand. Akechi glared at him. “What do you want, Sakamoto.”
“Chill out, man. I’m not gonna keep ya long,” Sakamoto said, “I just need you to help me settle this.” He pointed accusingly at Morgana. “This little bastard claims that an apple would win in a fight with a banana and he’s wrong.”
Maybe it was simply because Akechi hadn’t bothered tuning in before, but he thought that had to be the single most insanely idiotic argument he’d ever hard. And he really didn’t mind telling Sakamoto just that. “That’s the dumbest argument I’ve ever heard.”
“Striped onesie says what.”
“What?”
“Haha! Gotcha!” Sakamoto gave him a toothy grin. “Now get your big head out of your ass and use that huge brain of yours to make us shut up.”
Admittedly, the offer of making them quiet was not one Akechi wanted to turn down. “Fine. Bananas and apples, was it?” Both idiots nodded and Akechi sighed. He dragged the stool closer to their booth and sat down. “Well, the banana is mushier and has less dexterity. Were the two adversaries to physically collide, the apple would likely come out on top. However, brute strength is not the only way to win a battle. The banana could still outwit the apple if it is a bit sharper than the person rooting for it.”
Morgana’s jaw dropped as much as a cat’s could and Sakamoto blew a raspberry. “What?” Morgana exclaimed, “You’re gonna defend this moron? I thought you were smarter than that, Akechi.”
“Sakamoto’s general intelligence is inconsequential when in this particular instance he is correct,” Akechi argued. “If the banana can evade the apple for long enough, it can reveal it’s true power: the discardable peel. The apple will not expect it and fall to its slipperiness, where it will be left completely vulnerable. Then the banana will prove its superiority once and for all, and the rest of the fruits will no longer be able to deny their inferiority. The banana will finally be acknowledged as not only their equal but as one who dominates over them and who they must respe-”
“Dude, stop projecting onto my poor banana. It doesn’t deserve that,” Ryuji said. Then his face broke into a big smile and he lept out of his seat. “But TAKE THAT MONA! You’ve just been Akechi’d.”
“I’m not a verb, Sakamoto.”
Morgana’s big blue eyes glared at him. “You traitor.”
“It’s my specialty,” Akechi replied easily. And to his surprise, Sakamoto laughed. A person who didn’t glorify him as a flawless idol laughed at one of his jokes. The corners of his mouth hurt for a reason he could not identify. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah sure, man,” Sakamoto said. “Thanks. And uh. Have a nice day.”
Akechi closed the door to the little cafe behind him. As he walked towards the Yongen-Jaya station, he passed by the supermarket in the backstreets. Bunches of bright yellow bananas were gathered in a display outside.
The fruit drawer in his fridge was looking a tad abandoned. That was the only reason Akechi found himself taking out his wallet and bringing some home.
Had it not been for Akechi’s completely abysmal sleeping habits, he would have stormed over to Sakamoto’s house on foot, kicked down the door, and likely strangled him. Because it was far past midnight and Akechi’s phone was making noises.
Yes, his phone did have a do not disturb mode. But what use was there for it when people rarely texted or called him anyway.
After yelling into his arm, Akechi rolled over and picked up his phone.
Sakamoto Ryuji: hey man wanna come run with me tmrw
Akechi Goro: What is a “tmrw”?
Sakamoto Ryuji: oh
Sakamoto Ryuji: just short for tomorrow dude
Akechi Goro: Where did the vowels go.
Sakamoto Ryuji: idk its just a thing
Sakamoto Ryuji: idk is i don’t know btw
Sakamoto Ryuji: which means by the way
Sakamoto Ryuji: uh anyway you in for a run
Akechi Goro: Why me.
Sakamoto Ryuji: usually i go w/ akira but hes busy
That made sense. Who better to be the backup plan than the person who Sakamoto could count on to never be preoccupied with a social situation? Akechi was fully ready to tell Sakamoto in no uncertain terms that he could stuff his worthless pity right up his ass when he got another message.
Sakamoto Ryuji: and he’s so quiet to i need someone who talks even if u just roast the shit out of me
Akechi Goro: I am begging you to use at least one comma. Or spellcheck.
Sakamoto Ryuji: see there u go
Sakamoto Ryuji: ill meet u at ikonashira park?
Akechi Goro: It’s Inokashira.
Sakamoto Ryuji: im takin that as a yes
Sakamoto Ryuji: night bro see ya tmrw
It was a good thing Akechi wasn’t ever going to get any sleep in the first place because now he found himself staring at the ceiling and contemplating what the fuck just happened. When he’d been invited to things in the past— besides individual outings with Akira— it was never a particular activity that involved active participation. He could fade into the background.
With running, fading into the background would mean losing, it would be admitting defeat. Like hell, Akechi was going to do either.
Sakamoto had an advantage having been a key member of the Shujin the track team; Akechi had learned of the incident that got him kicked off while investigations of the Phantom Thieves were in the beginning stages. But Akechi was at least good enough at running to always make it out of Mementos alive after each of his assignments from Shido. Maybe a bit bloody and bruised, but alive nonetheless, even when he longed to simply let the reaper take him.
This would be fine.
It was not fine.
It turned out that Mementos had two things going for it: first that there was always an eerie breeze that sounded like the whispers of dead Victorian children, and second that Mementos was fucking terrifying and the looming threat of brutal death made for a great source of adrenaline.
Since there was not a cloaked figure with a scythe chasing him, Akechi did not have something to distract himself from how fatigued he was. Before arriving, he’d covered himself with enough spray-on deodorant that he still smelled like vanilla, but his shirt was sticky and wet on his back.
The human body is 90% percent water if his addled brain was remembering that correctly. He was almost positive that most of that liquid had now left his body and was drenching his clothes.
To avoid having to carry it with him, Akechi had left his gallon-sized water bottle by a bench where Sakamoto had assured him that no one would take it. Now he sincerely longed to chug the entire thing in one, long, cartoonish gulp. Or to dump it over his head so the wetness would at least be uniform as if he’d fallen into the lake rather than sweated himself silly.
Sakamoto turned around and continued jogging backward, where he would undoubtedly run into a person or a tree. “You doin’ alright, Akechi?” he hollered, having the nerve to only sound mildly winded.
Meanwhile, Akechi’s reply made it sound like someone had been keeping his throat in a vice grip for the past five minutes. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I think your acting chops have gotten rusty since you stopped being Mr. Fake Ass Celebrity Prince,” Sakamoto said. He jogged over to where Akechi was, just to flex that he still had the energy in him to run casually.
“What do you mean,” Akechi heaved. Sakamoto put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around to start walking back. He either didn't notice Akechi's flinch at the touch or simply decided to ignore it in favor of running his big mouth.
“You sound like you're dying,” Sakamoto explained, his hand still setting the nerve endings of Akechi's shoulder on fire. “And I saw you actually die. I'd maybe even say you sounded better then than you do now.” Even Sakamoto had the sense to hear the words leaving his own mouth and wince. “Okay maybe not. But you still don't sound good. If a jog was gonna suck the life outta you, you could've just said so. It wouldn't have been too hard to find something else to do.”
Akechi offered nothing in response except an undignified grunt, pouting and swatting Sakamoto’s hand away from his shoulder before the effect the touch had on him became noticeable. He considered being totally unresponsive for the rest of the outing simply because Sakamoto had the nerve to call him out. But then Akechi recalled the messages from last night.
“You mean like consuming egregious amounts of meat in short periods of time,” Akechi said. “As if I’d want to watch you shove a whole beef bowl into your mouth.”
“Hey!” Sakamoto exclaimed. “Given that performance, I think some meat would do you some good. Protein builds muscle and all.”
“Are you trying to be my fitness trainer?”
Sakamoto shrugged. “If ya want me to. I bet if I just got you angry enough you could lift that bench over your head.” He pointed towards the bench a few feet ahead of them. Akechi’s water bottle was sitting just where he left it, though some paranoid part of his brain told him it looked like someone took a sip in his absence.
“Is that a challenge, Sakamoto? Bold of you to assume I do not have endless reservoirs of repressed rage at my disposal,” Akechi said.
He stormed over to the bench, crouched down, and thought about things that made him angry. Things like the cat hair he’d started finding in his sweater vests recently, the fact that his microwave mac and cheese claimed to need three minutes and thirty seconds to cook when the optimal time was really three minutes and thirty-four seconds, and the bruise that he’d found on one of his bananas. Oh, and all the trauma shit too. That all kinda fucked him over.
This mere figure of wood and metal could not stop Akechi Goro. He’d already evaded death far more times than he really should have. Demons from hell surrounding him and dwelling within his own soul had not taken him down, why should a flimsy little seat.
“Dude. It’s nailed to the ground. You’re not gonna lift it no matter how pissed you are.”
Upon further examination, Akechi found that Sakamoto was right. Thwarted by effective construction, he flopped onto the bench and grabbed his water bottle. Sakamoto joined him, keeping enough distance that they weren’t squeezed but also not scooching as far away from Akechi as possible, which would have been the wise thing to do. Then again, Sakamoto wasn’t particularly known for boundless wisdom.
“Not even any of the track guys ever had a water bottle that huge,” Sakamoto said while Akechi gulped down half of it in one go. “I’m guessing it’s not because you’re a health nut though.”
Akechi swallowed one more time and closed the bottle, wiping some water off his face with his hand. “I didn’t take you to be one for making deductions.”
“I’m not. But everyone knows you don’t give a shit about yourself.”
Something in Akechi’s brain went off, an alarm blaring in his ears and declaring that his cover was blown. The facades were all for naught and he had to go make a new one quickly before the plaster crumbled away and the weaknesses in his construction were on full display.
“You lack tact, Sakamoto,” Akechi said through gritted teeth. He didn’t have time to rebuild. Barbed wire would have to do.
Sakamoto’s voice came out sounding higher than usual. One might even say he was a bit nervous. Good. “Haha yeah, I’m realizing that now...” he trailed off. He mumbled, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
Akechi sighed, but could not summon the brainpower to say anything remotely intelligent or snappy. If he drank anymore water he was going to need to go to the bathroom. So seeking an escape route, he unscrewed the cap again.
But Sakamoto spoke up again and made him pause. “Hey, so uh. When I asked you to hang out today? I wasn’t completely honest about why. I really didn’t want you to roast me all day, not gonna lie that’d kinda suck ass. I just didn’t think you’d believe me if I actually said it.”
Intrigued, Akechi turned to face him, silently urging him to go on. Sakamoto did so after a moment’s hesitation. “Well. I don’t know. I guess after you “died” back in Shido’s palace I uh. Maybecouldn’tgetthestuffyousaidoutofmyhead.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”
“When you were talking about…” Sakamoto mumbled, “you know, wanting to uh. Be loved and special and all. It just kinda hit me I guess. ‘Cause your dad screwed you and your ma over and I thought maybe we aren’t so different. Even though you’re a little. Uh.”
“Crazy.”
“No, actually. I was gonna say a pretentious asshole.” Sakamoto rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his voice, a truly rare and momentous occasion. “Kinda reminded me of myself before we started the Phantom Thieves, just alone and angry all the time. I so was sick of feeling like that and letting these rotten adults just get the better of me. Then I met the others and things got a whole lot better. We’re trying to do that for you now but um...you make it kinda difficult.”
“Because I killed the parents of two of your friends,” Akechi said. “That tends to be a bit of a deal-breaker.”
Sakamoto shook his head. “No, not that.” He paused. “Okay yes, that, but that’s not what I was talking about. I meant how you always very obviously keep to yourself. And none of us really wanted to make you come closer in case it made you uncomfortable or you got all defensive. So I kinda thought maybe just hanging out one on one might be better. Not sure how well that’s working though.”
Akechi found himself mentally replaying all the hours of awkwardly loitering away from the larger group that he'd done. All the quick glances that he’d perceived as being guarded and mistrusting. That didn't fit Sakamoto’s narrative.
When Akechi built the glass wall between them, he did so with the intention of keeping any pesky emotions that could jeopardize his mission from forming. But he could still see through it, he could still see how well the Phantom Thieves meshed together like the jagged pieces of a puzzle.
He was starting to doubt the reliability of his wall. Not the structural integrity, but rather how much he could really see through it. Akechi knew he was a known liar, a master of crafting an inverted narrative for the masses to consume blissfully. So it was not so far-fetched to think that he’d created such a tool as a means to lie to himself and that he’d become so good at it that he took his own bullshit as truth.
For better or for worse, Sakamoto was blunt. Honest to a fault. A terrible quality in a member of a wanted vigilante group, but not an entirely bad one in a person.
And given Sakamoto’s open hatred of him in the past, Akechi didn't think the blonde could lie about liking him if he tried. To have a person be so reliably open was incredibly refreshing when paired with the never-ending cycle of deceit going on within Akechi's own head.
“Let me get this straight,” Akechi said, really needing to free the ideas into the world before his head warped them beyond recognition. “You kept thinking about my delusional ravings after I died and decided there was a commonality between us. So when the group efforts weren't working because I'm a difficult person, you took it upon yourself to socialize me. And your idea of a fun bonding activity was running uphill in thirty-two degree Celsius weather.”
“Well, I guess that's the…” Sakamoto cleared his throat and did a higher-pitched voice, moving his hand like a puppet. “‘I’m Akechi and I hate everything’ version of it.”
“I do not sound like that.” Akechi looked down at his sweaty hands. “Speaking with you was not unpleasant, Sakamoto. It was certainly more mature than I expected.”
“Huh. Glad to hear it. Oh, and uh. You can just call me Ryuji. People only call me Sakamoto when they're gonna tell me to dye my hair back.”
The thought of Saka– Ryuji not looking like a human highlighter was foreign and unwelcome. “Alright. Ryuji then,” Akechi echoed. The boy in question was still looking at Akechi as if he very much expected something else from him. “What.”
“Hm? Me? Nothing.”
How troublesome. “No. Tell me. It's going to bother me all day if you don't.”
“Use your big brain skills, Mr. Detective,” Ryuji said with a smug look.
Akechi leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his damp bangs while he tried to recall what social cue he was missing here. There wasn't really a point of reference for him to go off of. He’d started actually calling Akira by his first name only several months after the other boy had told him to drop the formalities. The Phantom Thieves were all on a first-name basis with each other before he showed up.
All except him.
“You want to call me Goro,” Akechi said.
Once the possibility was laid out for him, Ryuji backtracked a bit. “If you don't want me to then that's fine, but it's just kinda weird that you're the only one, you know? No pressure and all, just thought we might try it.”
“Fine.”
Ryuji blinked at him. “Wait, really?” When Akechi didn't protest, Ryuji laughed. “Sweet! Feels like we took some sort of step forward today, Goro!” He cringed a little. “That's gonna take some getting used to. Gorogorogorogorogorogoro-”
“Please stop.”
“Oops. My bad. Guess I got a little excited.” Akechi decided he would wrestle with the implications of Ryuji being excited to be on a first-name basis with him at a later date. If he tried now he might stop functioning. “Anyway, I know the AC in the arcade is always blasting. Wanna go cool down and shoot some fake alien shit?”
Perhaps Sakamoto was right about them having some things in common. “That actually sounds enjoyable. Sure.”