Chapter Text
The rush of the city hits the moment he steps off the Shinkansen, the transformation seeming somehow abrupt despite the subtle changes occurring along the journey. The harshness of Tokyo burns more than it ever has done before, despite Goro spending more of his life in it than away.
Suburbia is apparently where his heart hails to now, even though he scoffs at the stupidity of the sentiment as it slips through. Yet even the short traverse from the platform up to the open air has him gritting his teeth, seconds from snapping at the next person who blindly runs into him, or crowds just a little too close.
He inhales once as he steps outside, counting to ten. He had at first despised this mechanism of mediating emotions that he’d previously either suppressed or surrendered to utterly, yet it does happen to work. Something about numbers, their constantness, grounds him more than any visualisation of abstract happiness.
Problem is, once he finishes the count, he’s still in Tokyo. The buildings rise, glaring and uniform in their vast occupation of the skyline. Jingles echo from every store, chatter from the multitude of people, lights flash from the latest idol group playing on one of the humongous screens, echoing a descant over the traffic.
“One month,” he mutters to himself, gripping his small holdall tighter, and marching across the square.
Despite his distaste for the city, he can still navigate the train lines like the back of his hand, muscle memory his guide. He changes lines surface side and swipes his card to enter back down once more, missing the simplicity of one line and two directions he’s become accustomed to.
Goro zones out waiting on the platform, trying to ignore everyone and everything around him. The train on the opposite platform pulls up and departs, leaving the same looking people, all in their own world, lost and unknowing.
A sharp pain stabs through his head and Goro winces, hissing slightly as the world pulses. Headaches are not unusual nowadays, yet the sudden sharpness is shocking. The station seems to morph, the tracks widening into a dim, dizzying pathway, the sparks of pain behind his eyelids spinning silvers and scarlet pinpricks as he attempts to focus, while cutting curving shadows spring up on all sides. An eerie piping tune echoes, and Goro curses the person playing such hideous music on their phone. He grimaces, swallows hard as the headache and noise persists and the world pulses, deep and beckoning.
The arrival of the train bursts through his subconscious and the pain eases to a muted irritation as the world rights itself. His hands shake as he boards, immediately dropping down into a seat and massaging his temples. Thankfully, the idiot playing their music stays on the platform, the tune vanishing as the door shuts.
“One month,” he repeats to himself, quietly but uncaring if anyone hears, “it’s just one fucking month.”
The cleanliness of the hotel is impressive, which is all he truly needs. Otherwise, the room is sparse and the bathroom small, but space is space and Goro has never needed vastness to be satisfied. He sleeps the night away and wakes up early, needing to get this sorted as swiftly as possible.
On closer inspection, the two years of his absence are clear in his route to the solicitor. Shops he doesn’t recognise, places he feels were not there before, even streets having changed slightly. Tokyo keeps an air of what it always was, never losing that essence, but it is at the microlevel, so changed.
But then again, Goro is hardly the same person who once walked these streets.
Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long, glimmers of anxiety filling his chest as the appointment time arrives and he’s called before the desk of a stern yet unfamiliar woman, something he’s thankful for.
“Thank you for coming all this way, Akechi. As mentioned on the phone, we do estimate the proceedings will take a few weeks, but no longer than a month. Unfortunately, there is always a lot of paperwork in these instances,” she says with a specific air of false professionalism.
You can say after a parent is jailed for life , he thinks but only nods. “I understand. Although I’m still unclear what you need me to do,” he says, and she opens a folder with a selection of documents.
“Although Masayoshi Shido’s assets were mostly seized by the state, there are some which he bequeathed to you upon his death. It took us a while to trace you, and we do appreciate you coming all this way. Due to the circumstances, it will take us a while to untangle these, and we’ll need to have your signature, and possibly interview you a few times as they are released,” she explains.
Goro manages a tight smile. He would, quite honesty, prefer to leave said assets to rot, whatever they might be. Yet for some reason he cannot quite do that. He needs to fully cut ties to this place, his former life. To make his own path, as he’d sworn in some world lost and unreal, he’d need to burn the edges, ensuring he cannot come back. The looming knowledge of what could potentially be has been holding him back so far. This is one of the last connections, the final ties. He can spend a month ensuring it ends.
“I understand. I’d be happy to look through those forms now,” he says, and her shoulders relax somewhat as she passes them over.
It’s odd, he’s found how the world works around him. Legally he still exists and he’ll get the occasional question, the slight too long stare, but then they’ll shake their heads and move away. His old life, his once position in the limelight, has vanished, only an echo remaining. Much like the gaps in his own memory which persist even now.
A new lease of life, hard won with scars to prove what was forsaken. Sometimes, it doesn’t seem worth it, and he has another set of scars as remnants of what occurs when that sentiment overwhelms. But time passes, and while things do not heal, not completely, their brands become easier to live with.
“I also looked into recovering your own belongings from when you lived here. Oddly enough the apartment has remained vacant, so you can visit and inquire regarding the status of any items. I also have the key to the storage unit,” she says, handing over an envelope.
Goro breaks from his reading to place it in his bag. “Thank you. These forms look fine, I’ll sign,” he says, and does so, handing them back.
“Much appreciated. I have your number, I’ll call when we have movement, it should be sometime in the next few days,” she says, and Goro nods.
Deciding to get on with this tedious process of collecting his past life together once and for all, he crosses the city to his old apartment. The muted negative nostalgia gives way though at this point, and he physically has to stop as he turns into the street he used to live in.
A sickening feeling twirls in his gut, and he leans against a wall, inhaling deeply. His skin burns, memories flooding. Walking this way, spent yet exhilarated after a trip to the metaverse, leaving to catch trains at precise times to tail certain people, returned in a car those few times, one time in particular when his body simply gave out, unable to function, seeing blood in every corner of the dark.
Mostly, it’s a recollection of blooming pain; of a person clutching onto a tainted vision to get them through the next second without fracturing. A constant numbness, only punctuated by highs and lows extreme in nature, focused on something with a clear end, ever approaching. All of it encased in destruction, so much that it is hard in this present, to breathe.
But he does though. “Just move,” he hisses to himself, and something about the harshness of his own tone breaks through.
Goro straightens, calms as much as he’s able to, and walks to the building. It’s frustratingly all for naught; his belongings, meagre trinkets but still his, are long gone. The landlord seems to think they were collected, although his recollection of something that occurred years ago is understandably vague. Goro assumes that means they were locked up as evidence at the time, most likely already discarded.
A wasted trip is annoying, and this feels more so as he marches off and into the bustle of more populated areas, gravitating further into Shibuya. He doesn’t really know what to do with his day now; he has the storage unit, but after the trip to his apartment, decides walks down uncomfortable memory lane should probably be spaced out; he’s not exactly confident of his own ability to deal with the past; small doses are best.
He’s not really paying attention to his surroundings, mostly trying to find a slightly less crowded area, and maybe something to eat. He’s surprised then, by the person who steps in his way, asking him and the few others around him to hold on before crossing the street.
Coming back to reality, he peers around the barred-off area, to see a camera, and flinches, muscles recalling the old mask he wore for such shoots and appearances. He shudders, really regretting forcing himself to go through all of this, deciding that as soon as he can get some food, he’ll go back to his hotel.
He looks up, eyes meeting that of one of the people standing at the photo shoot. They both blink, and it takes the minuscule movement of her eyes widening for recognition to flood, a hammer to the chest as it strikes him, hard and messy, any will to avoid the past evaporating.
Goro’s first thought is how little Ann Takamaki has changed. Eyes still bright with fight and passion, holding herself with a poise that actually seems to have grown more resolute in two years. Her face is precisely how he recalls it, hair just as flawless in the same icy hue. If anything, she seems a little taller, but hard to tell in the ridiculous heels she’s sporting.
This though, is definitely not supposed to happen. It’s been two years. He shouldn’t be running into people from the past on his first day in town, especially not any of the ex-Phantom Thieves. In fact, he’d have given a part of his soul to not see any of them again.
It could have been worse, he supposes. It could have been Haru Okumura. Or Akira.
The best course of action is to leave, and Goro does just that, snapping his gaze away and turning round, or at least he attempts to before a familiar voice reaches his ears.
“Wait!” Takamaki yells, and despite the fact that he should simply ignore her and run, he obeys.
This will do no good. Nothing positive will come of this, and he’s aware of that. And yet, he turns around, instantly somewhat impressed that she’s managed to run to the barrier in those heels.
“Can you just wait, I won’t be long. Please?” she says, a few people around them murmuring, and Goro ends up nodding simply to stop causing a scene.
She looks relieved of all things, although he sees her turn around and check he’s still there as she returns to her place. He sees someone snap a photo of him, so he ducks away, leaving them to gawp at her while he hides in the background.
He doesn’t know why he stays. Habit perhaps, curiosity an unfortunate second answer. But maybe as she’d asked him to, and his existence is not one which has warranted much of people asking him to stay.
He clenches his fist, aggravated. To be still driven by such needs is frustrating, but it’s not something that can be cured so simply. He’s working on it, and burying his past will be a way of doing so. He can stomach one conversation to do that.
It takes a while. But when Takamaki returns she practically runs to him, now in a much more casual jeans and a jumper.
“Sorry, took longer than expected!” she says, as if this were a usual meeting between acquaintances.
“Apparently so,” he says, not able to form actual sentences, and the awkwardness settles on them both.
Takamaki stares at him, eyes wide and blinking, which is unnerving. People don’t really see Goro anymore, appraising stares such as this have only been from medical staff. He folds his arms over himself and she seems to start.
“Well, um, you’re here. I’m glad,” she says, and horrifyingly, it seems genuine.
He must make a face for she looks around in what seems like desperation before her eyes light up.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’d...well, I want to talk to you. If you have time?” she says, and Goro finds his nerves fraying.
“Yes, I assumed,” he says, and she gives him a flat stare which is a pleasant surprise. Of all the Thieves other than Akira, Takamaki is one he’d spent some time with, as despite the multiple layers of deception which marked those times, she’d seemed the most genuine.
It’s almost a relief to see she does not shy away, flinch or react in hostility which he assumed or has received from the others. A small thing remaining from the past: she still doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He’s glad that hasn’t changed.
“This place is good, let’s go,” she says, and doesn’t wait for his reply, just turns and walks, leaving him to follow, turning through a few side streets to find a quaint cafe, location well suited for a private conversation. They pick a table near the window, furthest from anyone and yet near the door. A clear escape for anyone.
“Do you still drink coffee?” she asks.
Goro snorts. “That hasn’t changed,” he says.
Ann smiles before moving to the counter, placing an order quickly and returning. She pauses for a moment. “So, you’re not dead,” she says.
Goro’s last grab at stability fails, and he starts laughing.
Takamaki watches him as he struggles to control himself, eyebrows raised but she doesn’t interrupt.
“My apologies, this is all...well, I don’t know what to say. No, I’m very much alive. Although you don’t seem as surprised as I would expect,” he remarks.
She pauses, and as she does their coffees and sandwiches arrive, giving them both a moment. He doesn’t really know how to talk to people anymore, finds himself juddering between extreme politeness and harsh truths, language odd and stilted. He doesn’t exactly want the practice, but it might have made this encounter easier.
“Don’t get me wrong, I am surprised to see you like this. But. I always thought you might have survived. You were never...the same, as the other things we saw in Maruki’s world,” she says, and it seems to him that a lot of thought has been placed into his existence.
It’s warming, although it sets alarm bells ringing. None of this is to plan, and Goro hates plans that go array.
“I see,” he says.
She gives him a sad smile. “Akira always believed it too, although I think after two years that may have dimmed a little,” she says, pointedly.
Less than five minutes into a conversation and she mentioned the one person he is most wanting to avoid. He steadies himself, but her gaze is sharp.
“I wasn't able to travel for at least a year. I didn’t come out of that ship in the best condition,” he says, and her eyes soften. It’s not pity, he’s learned that look by now, but sadness is clear.
“It’s not a topic I want to discuss in detail,” he adds, before she can push, his chest tightening, pulling at his breath.
“I understand. But why now then?” she says instead, and the rising anxiety ebbs.
“A few legal matters to settle. I left some belongings here in my... abrupt departure that I also wish to collect. I don’t plan on staying long,” he says.
Takamaki’s face pulls through several emotions. “Right. I guess you have a whole new life now,” she says.
Goro scoffs. “Don’t you?” he asks, avoiding the actual answer.
Her smile grows. “I’m working on it. Staying here is the best choice for modelling and school,” she says, and he nods. It seems sensible.
“Most of the others are still here too. Or close,” she adds, and Goro wonders what her aim is.
“Well, I hope I don’t run into any of them unawares. Though I am sure they will all know soon,” he says.
She frowns. “I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. But I think they’d want to see you,” she says, and Goro finds his annoyance growing.
“For gods sake stop the pleasantries, Takamaki, we both know none of you want to see me,” he says.
Her mouth falls open slightly, but her face hardens and she puts down her cup slightly too hard, the sound of porcelain on wood echoing.
“If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t have asked, Akechi. Stop assuming you know what any of us want,” she snaps, and he’s taken aback by the sharpness of the denial.
“I’m not going to speak for Haru and Futaba, but I know I’m glad to see you. Even if it’s in a complicated way. I’m pretty certain Yusuke and Ryuji would feel the same. Sae-san certainly would, and I know you and Makoto had your issues, but she’d be happy knowing you’re alive,” she lists, and that’s more people that Goro would have guessed had any semblance of warmth left for him.
“And I’m really mad you’re not even thinking of seeing Akira while you’re here,” she adds, like a knife to ribs as a final action.
Air becomes sparse, but he shifts through the rudeness of an issue he didn’t even know he had.
“Kurusu is here?” he says, and even he can tell the way his tone changes, even if he cannot explain how.
“When did you move back to formalities? Oh, and please call me Ann, it sounds too strange otherwise,” she says, and he grits his teeth at the avoidance.
“He’s here. He didn’t stay long in his hometown, he transferred back and finished high school at Shujin,” she explains.
But there’s something there, he thinks. Something about the way she hesitates before saying more, in the knowledge they are more than a year out of high school and yet that is all she mentions. But then again, it’s not her story to tell.
“I see,” is all he can muster.
Ann rolls her eyes. “He’s working at Leblanc on Thursday and Friday. Oh, and he also might know where some of your stuff is,” she adds.
“What?” Goro replies, and Ann grins sweetly, making him nervous.
“Your apartment was searched for evidence after Shido’s arrest and his confession. When you vanished, they were going to throw away your things, but Akira asked Sae if he could store them. He might have hung onto them,” she says.
Typical. Now he knows this, he’ll be forever tormented by the information and his belongings potentially hanging around in this city. But Akira Kururus represents one of the strongest aspects he wishes to move on from; Goro’s not sure he’s prepared for a meeting.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.
Ann doesn’t seem happy about that, but she lets it lie. Yet before she leaves, once again she surprises him.
“Take my number. I’d ask for yours but I don’t think you’d give it to me. Just in case you do want to talk again while you’re here,” she says.
He allows it, thinking he’ll delete it when he’s back at the hotel. It seems too much though to refuse completely.
“And...think about seeing Akira. A selfish ask I know, but I really do think it will help seeing him,” she says.
“Help him or me?” he asks, and she smiles softly.
“Whichever answer is easier for you to deal with. Take care, Akechi,” she says, the last part emphasised, before she leaves with a wave.
The whole encounter leaves him disturbingly off kilter. He wends his way back to the hotel, picking up a bento on the way, not really seeing anything. His entire time so far has been a haze of confusion and distraction, reality zoning in and out in a way which is uncomfortable if not familiar.
Staying focused, staying present is not easy. He has lost months of his life in this perpetual dissociation, but he’d thought he’d got a handle on it. This trip is proving more than ever that he has a way to go before life settles. If it ever does.
He contemplates calling his therapist, but that seems too much like failure on his first day in Tokyo. Instead he spends the rest of the day making plans and finding comfort in order until he cannot keep the thoughts at bay.
Akira Kurusu. He’d not lied in Maruki’s detestable reality, a life lived created for or controlled by someone else is not a one he wants. He’s no longer so binded by his warped methods of coping, he understands that he had never been the master of his own existence. Gods aside, he’d always, in the back of his mind, known he would never truly succeed in his so-called ideals of destroying Shido and gaining peace.
Amazing though, what concoctions the mind will come up with to get through pain. Left alone and without other other outlets, their destruction can be all encompassing.
He’d also not lied in his belief that they would see each other again. Every step of their interactions in that fateful year spoke of more than happenstance, and the inevitability that their paths would cross felt more real to Goro than anything he’d experienced until that moment.
Although with time, it seems that was more of an in the moment yearning. A teenage wish to be cared for, to have someone waiting and expecting his appearance, a longing to be remembered. With the world falling apart, with the potential of his life snuffing out as if he never mattered at all, that Akira would recall and await him once more, that their strange and striking connection could last was a miracle Goro of two years prior yearned for.
But he’s changed in those minutes and hours apart, learning to survive and assimilate his past into his present without the presence of his fellow wild card. And it’s working. Not that Goro will proclaim himself at peace or even ‘better’ since that notion is something he feels to be a destructive ideal. He is, in the last year, making progress. And that progress has been formed by being his own self.
He truly is living as freely as one can. Which means staying far away from Akira. His rival, his comparison point, his may have been friend, his may have been...well, it’s no use living in what could have been. Goro needs to be able to move on from all that occurred, cut off the pathways which drew him to destruction and almost killed him several times over.
But. Although it is a change from his plans, and oh how Goro detests that, it could be advantageous. By finding out what occurred with his belongings straight from the source, and seeing Akira one last time, he can hopefully lay it all to rest. After all, running away has never truly been his style.
Despite this new determination, it takes him until Friday to actually go through with it. He also for some reason, does not delete Ann’s number, but he doesn’t use it either. Part of him secretly hoped the lawyers would come back with everything tied up neatly and he could see Akira, close off this corner of his life and be done with it. But of course, no such luck. He feels awful on Thursday, spends most of it sleeping and battling against an overwhelming need to scream and vanish into nothing , but Friday, the world seems somewhat more even.
It’s hard, going back to Yongen-Jaya. More so than his own apartment, which housed a multitude of bad memories, but this journey is twisted with good ones. Goro has lied about many things, but he always somehow managed to be painfully honest with Akira; part of his downfall.
Leblanc and the attic Akira lived in did always feel more homey than any place Goro has lived. The slow walk has his shoulders lifting, burdens trailing away just like they did when he was eighteen, and he could play a different type of pretend that was oddly soothing despite the eventuality of his role. Nothing in this area has changed, the streets seem frozen in time, and he could for all intents and purposes, be making his way to needle Akira into a game of chess after cram school.
But he is not, as he forcibly reminds himself, as he turns down the narrow street. Everything is different now, despite how memory tricks itself into believing otherwise. He hesitates, probably for too long by the stares of curious locals, and then, with nothing more than a steading breath, pushes open the door.
The bell rings, and his steps falter for a moment, yet he pushes on. And then with just a few heavy movements, he is inside.
At first, it looks the same. Exactly the same, in its emptiness and low lighting, which is comforting. But as his eyes adjust to the gloom, he notices subtle changes. By the Sayuri, is a new painting, entirely different in it’s compositing, abstract and burning it’s brightness, an explosion of light that instantly lifts Goro’s sprints. The booths have been reupholstered, and there’s a newer television in the corner, but still turned to the same channels Sakura-san always played when Goro was here.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” calls a voice, and Goro’s throat closes as he steps forward, moving sluggishly to the counter as the low tamber echoes from the small kitchen.
He wants more time. More time to think of a greeting, to regret this, to embrace this, but he doesn’t have it, as barely a moment later Akira Kurusu walks in.
He freezes on seeing Goro, so still and so clearly shocked in a way that Goro is not used to seeing on him; Akira was always either so ready for anything as Joker or a steady, resolute presence when himself. To see him so genuinely floored is a change, one Goro is oddly pleased at.
He’s taller, Goro notes. Hair still the same chaotic mess that somehow looks good, if a little longer. He does though, have a gaunt edge to him; cheeks veering hollow, eyes wide behind his glasses but circled with dark lines. A spark of worry ignites, an old kindling dry and lacking, that worry for someone he was always destined to hurt, a concern that echoed despite it all.
“Goro?” he says, and the use of his first name is a slice out of his heart. Despite his insistence with Ann, he cannot bring himself to revert to formalities.
“Hello, Akira. It’s been a while.”
The pain in his heart sweeps to his head, the café dimming into a tunnel of vision of simply Akira framed by silver and red as the backing of the location blurred, the epicentre of Goro’s world for a glorious second, before the café appears, and he blinks himself back into the moment.
Akira’s hands seem to not know what to do with themselves, twisting in his apron even while his face brightens into a small if hopeful smile.
“Take a seat,” he says, nodding towards the counter, and it takes Goro a moment to recall how to walk, until he can stiffly make his way to the stool.
Akira turns and starts grabbing the ingredients to make a coffee which Goro hasn’t asked for, although this is another routine of theirs. By the time their association ended, Goro didn’t even ask, he’d turn up to have his favourite brew pushed across the counter, a smile for his trouble.
Now he senses Akira is doing this just to diffuse some of the obvious tension building, and Goro is thankful for that. As he grinds the beans, the nostalgic scent fills the room. His eyes sting, tears build behind them and he is so annoyed at how much it invokes in him. Akira thankfully has his back to him, so doesn’t see Goro have to wipe at his eyes and steady his nerves.
As Akira completes the brewing process, the familiarity of the aroma strikes Goro and he leans forward.
“You remember the exact blend? And you still carry it?” he says, trying to minimise the impact with the second question.
Akira chucks, short and low. “Coffee doesn’t go out of fashion. When it’s good, it’s good. And yes, I do. I remember all my friends’ favourite drinks,” he says.
Goro is amazed he can say ‘friend’ without inflection, tack it onto the sentence and speak it with what seems like truth. Akira turns to pour over the water, the same movement Goro recalls, is nothing unusual and yet has always looked wrong when performed by other baristas.
Unlike in previous years, Akira pushes the cream and sugar over with the cup.
“Tastes do change though,” he says, words weighted, and moves back to pour his own cup.
Goro hesitates for a moment, watches the slight, too quick motion. His nerves seem to be based in his hands today, a quirk Goro never noticed in all their time together. He sighs, reaching forward, adding the creamer and half a sugar.
He can feel Akira watching as he does, and he lifts the cup, holding it to his lips as he takes a sip. His eyes slip shut unawares; it’s good, it might actually be better than his memories, Akira’s skill having improved over time, but he thinks it may be more than that. That soothing nostalgia, that seems to be a constant in these days, with the underlying bitterness of all that was hidden.
Yet it’s sweet, the blend and the combination of sugar and cream, lightening everything and returning Goro to one of the few places which felt like he imagined home should. Coffee isn’t meant to be calming, and of course it does energise, but not just as a stimulant. This taste, in this atmosphere, gives him life in a way that few things could when he was a mannequin of too many masks, brittle and empty when all removed.
And now it does the same, when he’s still brittle but real, a more dangerous combination of fractures pieced together in a pattern not secure enough to function, but glued close enough to keep moving. It warms, it ignites, it cools and settles. He opens his eyes, and Akira is openly staring, waiting on edge. So Goro smiles, is helpless to do anything else. For once though, that doesn’t bother him.
“Some things though, don’t change,” he says, a true softness in his tone which has been absent for some time.
Akira smiles too, reaching for the cream and adding a small dash to his own coffee. Again, it’s the same, having once told Goro that this particular blend always suited a little sweetness cutting through.
“That’s good,” he says, and he leans over the counter, watching as Goro takes his second sip.
The silence is not comfortable, and Goro is useless at sitting in tension without speaking.
“I am surprised to see you here,” he says, and Akira snorts, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well, I suppose I deserve that. But I imagined after all that happened, you’d have welcomed a change of pace,” he says.
Akira shakes his head. “Not all of us want to run,” he says, and Goro bristles, his thoughts from early in the week returning.
“Straight to it. All right, I’m sure you have questions,” he says, and Akira stares straight at him.
“It depends if you have answers,” he says, and Goro sneers.
“Cut the crap, Akira. Just say what you want to say,” he snaps, and Akira’s eyes widen. Then, surprisingly he smiles.
“There you are,” he says, and the words send a shiver, the hairs on the back of Goro’s neck rising. But Akira instead moves, pushing his cup across the counter and walking around. He takes the stool near Goro, dragging it back a little for space, then settles down with the cup.
It’s much like it would be after school, Sakura-san giving Akira a break when it was just the two of them. Goro swallows.
“I don’t really know where to start. You’re alive, it’s been two years, you’re suddenly back. There’s some obvious questions, but I’m going to assume some you won’t want to answer. And that’s no pressure to answer anything,” he adds, and Goro hates just how kind he still is.
“Try me,” he says instead, adding teeth to his smile. Akira’s own lifts, just as razor sharp.
“Okay. Why now?” he says, sipping his coffee as he waits.
This is one of the easier answers. “I have some legal issues to finalise over my father’s assets. They needed to be done in person,” he says, easy now he’s already spoken to Ann, and Akira nods slowly.
“Although I’m sure you could have requested an intermediary. Or settled it on email. There’s very few reasons to do things in person, nowadays,” he says, slow and without blinking.
Goro hands tighten on the cup and he sets it down carefully.
“Are you going to challenge everything I say?” he says, and Akira shrugs.
“Depends if you’ll tell me the truth or not,” he says, and Goro sneers.
“So much for the no pressure,” he snarls, and to his shock Akira freezes. His hand placed on the counter trembles, as he lets out a breath shakily.
“Right, yeah. Sorry, that was...I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, breath stuttering just as much as his hands.
Goro stares. This is not the Akira he remembers. Akira Kurusu of two years ago would know when he was pushing Goro too much, and that had barely been a scratch. Akira would call him out on his shit, gently but with no room for pretence.
He would never back down, fade out like this. It’s the second time he’s wondered, and combined with Ann’s twist of conversation previously, he’s starting to think something happened. Something in these years which has changed Akira in ways which immediately spark worry, an emotion he has never really known what to do with when focused on Akira.
“You are correct though, I suppose. I didn’t exactly fight it, when they asked. So why now? I had the opportunity, and well. It seems inevitable I would return,” he says.
Akira’s head lifts as he speaks. “Where are you living now?” he asks,
Goro considers. “North of here. Various places. A secure hospital, mostly, until six months ago,” he says.
“Hospital,” Akira repeats, tone carefully neutral.
Goro inhales, his back immediately starting to itch. He resists the urge to move even a centimetre. He takes a sip of his coffee as he weighs up his options on exactly what to tell.
“I don’t remember how I got out of the ship, so there is no point in that question. My wounds though, were extensive. I was hospitalised for a while, in rehabilitation after that. I broke several bones, had a nasty head injury, and needed skin graphs for the burns,” he says, amazed actually that he can keep himself as steady as he does through the summary.
Akira’s hand inches forward, reaching out but stopping, falling back. The air is too thick to breathe suddenly, and Goro swallows, throat clicking.
“In the past, not worth dwelling on,” he mutters and Akira looks as if he;s going to protest, and Goro is thrown back to another conversation yet this time Akira says nothing.
Definitely something wrong.
Goro though, is tired of an interview, so instead gestures with his cup. “And you? I was surprised to hear you’re still in this place,” he says.
Akira flinches. It’s subtle and covered well but he does. Goro marks his wording to think on later.
“Who’s been telling you things?” he asks, and Goro sighs heavily.
“Ann. The mastermind behind this meeting,” he says, and the levity he expects from that is lacking, so Goro elaborates. “I saw her on a shoot, an utter coincidence,” he says.
“Ah. Yes, she’s doing well, heading a campaign for shoes. Still just about managing to study too,” he says, which does explain the elaborate footwear.
Goro raises an eyebrow, and Akira lifts a hand to tug at his hair. The motion hits Goro in the chest, such a familiar tick.
“I tried the college thing. Didn’t work out. Just...thinking what the next step is. Working while I do,” he says, shrugging.
Logical, a good idea. And in many ways, Goro can understand Akira not suiting further education with the time he had at that shitty high school. But that undercurrent which has framed all this conversation settles, and he knows there’s more in this.
“I got a door though,” Akira suddenly says with a grin, nodding to behind Goro.
He turns and sees that indeed, there is now a door blocking the steps up to the attic, the stairs even looking newer. He smiles, recalling with a pang Akira’s sparse, hardly functional living space. He hopes he’s no longer sleeping on crates, has more than a half operational space heater.
“A good addition. Ann mentioned you may have some of my belongings, from my old apartment,” Goro says, seizing the opportunity.
“So that’s why,” he says, so soft Goro barely catches it, but he moves on before Goro can speak.
“I do, but not here. I’ll get it this weekend, if you want to come back round Monday? Sorry, I kept it here for a while, but…” he trails off with a shrug, rubbing the back of his head.
Goro grimaces. Another delay, another forced return. But it can’t be helped. He drains the last of his coffee, and attempts a smile, standing.
“Monday it is then. Thank you, Akira, for the coffee,” he says, reaching for his wallet.
“Don’t even try to. It’s on me. And I’ll see you then,” he says, a statement and not a question, standing too.
Goro shrugs on his coat, caught between desperately wanting to flee back to the starkness of his hotel room and the wish to linger, soaking up the calmness this place brings. But the awkwardness and potential of having to discuss more of the vanished time has him moving to the door.
“One last thing,” Akira calls, as he opens it.
Goro turns, and Akira exhales, not looking at him. “Were you in Tokyo around April two years ago?”
Goro blinks. “No, I wasn’t. I was still in hospital.”
Akira inhales, and Goro hovers. He’s still, extremely so, and Goro’s concern spikes. Then like a bubble being popped, Akira relaxes, and nods again, a silent dismissal. Impressive, truth be told, how he constructs that normalcy. Still though, Goro takes a second, the strangeness of the moment purveying, but there is nothing left to be said or done. So he takes his leave, closing the door softly behind him.
His body allows him a few moments of respite before the headache hits. Goro actually staggers at the intensity, everything dull and marked with shadows. He leans against a low wall near the alley entrance, breathing hard until the world rights. The distant, but somewhat eerie jingle from a store or passing car echoes, which should put him to rest. But it doesn’t feel right, even as he straightens.
Something out of the corner of his eye makes him turn, his body moving sluggishly through the headache. The awning of Leblanc seems to glow, a little too red, a little too sharp, and then it fades back for a second.
“What the hell,” he mutters, then drops his forehead to his palm. He has sleeping pills in the hotel, he can knock himself out for the night, probably needing more sleep.
He’ll have migraines for the rest of time, or so the doctor tells him. The fading in and out of reality, the darkness crawling, it’s all things he’s seen before. It’s just usually a creeping thing, allowing him time to dim the lights and crawl into bed. The sudden ebb and flow of these is unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Goro’s body decided to give him a brand new set of symptoms.
He ponders the conversation all the way back to the hotel. He cannot be sure, but there is definitely something amiss with Akira. He tries though, to let it rest. Akira is no longer his concern, wasn’t ever really despite how he became something to Goro. Something he never quite managed to name, rival and friend never really cutting it, but as good as language could do. Enemy perhaps, but Goro never truly saw him as such.
It's hard though, having spent so long analysing every twitch of a person, to start dismissing them, even with the gap in time. It’s unnerving how quickly Goro can slip back into part of his old roles; another reason why this trip is most likely ill advised.
He gets back to his hotel and collapses into bed, despite the fact it’s barely evening. He has no timetable to keep, another reason he’s probably struggling, so decides at least to see if one of his old favourite restaurants is still open.
He flicks open his phone, then promptly drops it on the bed.
He sits up, almost backing away from the device, staring. His hand shakes coming to brush his hair out of his eyes, exhaling.
“Don’t be so stupid,” he mutters to himself, but it still takes him a moment to reach out, pick up the device and unlock it.
And yet, the app is still there. The familiar eye, bathed in red, back on his phone and appears in his recently used apps as if it never left.
“Fuck,” he says eloquently, the immediately has to rush to the bathroom, feeling nauseous.
As he bends over the sink, bile rising, his thoughts clamour for attention; memories, dreams, fears they all rush in a second. The first time he opened that app, the way he’d cried himself hoarse at being so lost in a world he didn’t understand. Tirelessly stalking targets while framed in shadow, the slight lifting of his heart with the presence of his white uniform, the twisting rush of sending himself berserk when needed. And underlying it all, the heavy beat of the metaverse, pulling him, swarming him, curving the world around-
Everything halts. Slowly he lifts his head, the sickness vanishing as his mind clicks broken puzzle pieces in an order which does not match yet fits anyway. When he looks into his own eyes he sees one thing: fear.
And for once, he’s not angry with himself for all that.
“I love this place, a good choice,” Ann says, sliding into the seat. She smiles brightly over the menu, far more casual today, yet still with an impeccable air of style that Goro is oddly envious of.
“Thank you for coming to dinner,” he says, and she shakes her head.
“I’m happy you asked, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” she says, and he swallows hard.
“Yes, well. I do have a reason,” he tries, and for once it’s going to be incredibly hard to get the words out.
“I did think so,” she says, although she doesn’t seem upset about it.
Which makes it worse. He’s going to crush that smile, that carefreeness from her gaze. Once upon a time, he may have revelled in that. And now, without even following his plan through, he feels awful.
He’d lasted twelve hours before contacting her. He’d run it through in his head, but she has to know. He’s almost certain the app hasn’t appeared for her, or their first meeting would have gone differently. Which means the difficulty of the conversation will only increase.
They order, and Goro finds himself hesitant to do anything. Ann is chatty, and the universe has always hated him, so he manages to fall into stilted but enjoyable conversation through their meal, and until the plates are taken. It is Ann who allows him a conversation starter.
“Akira mentioned you visited,” she says, looking pleased as he tries to smile back.
“Yes, I did. He’ll be collecting my belongings for Monday,” he says, and Ann nods.
“That’s good, I knew he’d hold onto them,” she says.
He has to do it. He inhales once, but still has to force the words out. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you? How he’s changed,” he says, and Ann’s eyes widen, small falling.
“W-well we all change. Sure, I was surprised he dropped out of college, but he wasn’t happy there,” she tries, and Goro can see the cracks appearing.
“It’s more than that though, isn’t it? And knowing Akira, he’ll have insisted he’s fine. Even though you can all see it’s clearly a lie,” he says.
“Because you’re the expert on Akira,” she says, coldness in her tone, all mirth gone.
In a way, this is better. It makes the next part easier. Goro pulls his phone from his pocket and moves it across the table. Ann’s eyes follow it, a small frown on her face, which clears into the mirror of what he’s seen in himself last night: fear.
“No,” she whispers, soft and scared, sounding exactly like the teenager of his memories. Her gaze flickers up to him, anger heating the look.
“This is a joke. What the hell are you doing?” she says, and he cannot help but laugh.
“A nice try, but why would I joke about this of all things? You think I’m clamouring for the glory days? I know you’re not that stupid,” he says, and she swallows hard, gaze flickering between it and him.
“We destroyed the metaverse. This isn’t possible. I-I don’t have it, the others would have said if they did,” she says, and Goro’s resolve stoppers somewhat, sadness remaining.
“I assumed so. You were right all those years ago, when you said I couldn’t do it alone. Which is why I’m...well, just know I am truly sorry for this,” he says.
Ann’s eyes cross to him, confusion in her gaze as he takes the phone back. He lifts it up, eyes locked on hers, but the resolve stays.
“Akira Kurusu.”
Candidate found.