Chapter Text
Akira’s phone goes off the way it does when Ann and Ryuji are spamming the group chat with quotes and recaps of their newest favorite show with the hopes that some poor fool will take the bait and lose several potentially productive hours of their lives watching it with them. He yawns and sits up on the couch he was slouching on, basking in the sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains of the living room Yusuke effectively established as his own when he dumped all his art supplies on the floor and proceeded to never move them. Akira doesn’t mind. It didn’t take long for the smell of paint, turpentine, and charcoal to be as familiar to him as the scent of fresh coffee in the morning.
Akira spots his phone on the floor over by Yusuke who’s too absorbed by whatever’s on the canvas in front of him to notice it buzzing itself towards his foot with each new message.
He rolls his eyes and yawns again. “Are they still talking about the episode where whatshername gets abducted by aliens or whatever?” As little interest as Akira has in ever actually watching it, he can’t deny it always sounds appropriately ridiculous. Okay, he kind of does want to watch it, but he’s been feigning disinterest for so long it would feel like losing to give in now. He could watch it in secret, but Morgana would find out and never let him live it down.
It simply isn’t an option, he won’t do it.
He’ll make Futaba watch it with him next weekend.
“I’m sorry?” Yusuke’s voice echoes off the empty walls and through the dust motes, falling flat and dull by the time it reaches Akira’s ears.
“You know,” Akira says, gesturing idly. “The show with –” He straightens his back when the metal folding chair he’s sitting in digs uncomfortably into his spine. Chair, not the lumpy second-hand couch they bought on the cheap from a friend of a friend of a friend.
He wakes up for the second time when he remembers that everything’s different now.
“Um.” There are no half-finished sketches aesthetically pinned to the walls, no canvases set aside with thick globs of drying acrylic paint, no kitchen sink filled with cups of muddled water and brushes instead of dishes. “Never mind. I think I fell asleep for a minute.”
He swallows the tightness in his throat when he remembers he’s at Madarame’s shack. The shithole Yusuke was forced to live in while Madarame spent most of his time out schmoozing rich idiots into buying forged paintings so he could add another annex to the mansion he kept his mistress in.
Yusuke makes a light noise through his nose. “It’s been longer than a minute, however I wouldn’t be concerned. I managed to complete a few studies, although I’m still undecided about how I’d like to paint you.”
Akira tries to tune out the incessant flurry of disorganized thoughts and clears his throat as he walks over to Yusuke. He has a large sketchbook strapped to a clipboard open on the easel in front of him, sketches of Akira from a variety of angles littering the page. Akira especially appreciates the attention to detail in the closeup of his face with the bit of drool threatening to spill out from the corner of his mouth.
“If these are just studies, I really want to see what your finished paintings look like. I bet you’re good enough to have your own gallery,” Akira says, knowing that Yusuke deserves every compliment he can get after being treated like Madarame’s personal golden goose all his life. And because it was true. Even after three years, Yusuke never failed to amaze him.
Yusuke soaks up the compliment the same way a dry sponge takes to water before shaking his head. “I still have much to learn before I would ever consider having a gallery of my own, but under Madarame-sensei’s tutelage, I imagine it wouldn’t be impossible someday.”
Akira claps Yusuke’s back. “Whenever it happens, you can count on me being there.”
“I’ll hold you to your word. If you’d like to buy a ticket in advance, I’d be willing to offer you the one-time deal of an unlimited pass to all my future galleries for the singular price of 10,000 yen.”
Akira whistles and eyes the overt lack of muscle or fat to Yusuke’s frame. “How about free food instead? I’m not a bad cook.”
“An acceptable counteroffer,” Yusuke says. “If I could begin collecting on that immediately, it would be much appreciated.”
Akira feels something click into place and smiles as some of his nerves are put to rest.
Earlier, he moved fast after school, knowing he had a narrow window of opportunity to talk to Yusuke alone before Akechi or Morgana or even the newly traitorous Ann tried to intervene. He managed to ditch Morgana by asking him to wait with Ann while Akira was in the bathroom before booking it for the stairs, bypassing Ryuji with an apology and the promise of training with him the next day. He half expected to see Akechi waiting at the station for him, arms crossed, foot tapping – but thankfully his paranoia proved to be just that, and he made it to the shack without any preamble.
It took ten minutes to work up the courage to message Yusuke that he was standing out front.
He’d been remembering the last time he’d talked to him in the future. It was in the morning. They’d agreed to meet up later at Ogikubo for ramen.
He wonders how long Yusuke waited.
“Yeah,” Akira says, thinking maybe he could finally keep his end of the arrangement. “Today’s fine.” His phone buzzes murderously on the floor. He spares it a glance before turning his attention back to Yusuke. “How does –” It keeps buzzing. “One sec.” He grabs it and internally goes over the pros and cons of answering Ann’s call.
“Hey,” he says like he didn’t dump Morgana on her and run away after suggesting they should all walk to the station together.
“Where’d you go?” she asks.
“I’m hanging out with a friend today.”
“You said you were going to hang out with me today.”
“Stop grabbing my phone out of my hand and maybe we can do something another time.”
“Goro-kun takes your phone all the time!”
“Goro is a dick and doesn’t have any friends.”
“He has friends! We’re his friends.”
“Yeah, he’s lucky we’re too nice for our own good,” Akira mumbles, hopefully unintelligibly. “Having a few friends doesn’t make him any less of a dick.”
“I’ve never seen him be anything but nice. Sure, he’s a little bossy sometimes, and maybe a little arrogant –”
“A little arrogant?”
Ann continues, “– But you’re his best friend! He can’t be that bad.”
Akira removes the phone from his ear, mouths the words best friend in bewildered offense at the phone and looks at Yusuke for unsolicited backup. He receives a curious tilt of the head in response.
Good enough.
“Okay, whatever. I’m still allowed to be mad at him for deleting numbers from my phone. Why are you defending him, anyways? Akechi already knows I think he’s a shithead. I make the effort to remind him every time he gets a little too full of himself.”
Ann sighs. “Boys,” i s all she seems to have to say on the matter. “But I only called because Morgana asked me to. I’ll let him know you’re still alive.”
“Thanks, gotta go. See you tomorrow,” Akira says, hanging up after Ann bids her own farewell.
“Is something wrong?” Yusuke asks, attention on a sketchbook balanced on his knee as he whips graphite across the page in broad strokes. Akira recognizes his own face within the dramatic lines and shadows, his frustration clear by the downturn of his lips and the furrow of his brow.
Akira wants to tell Yusuke everything. He’s always been a good listener. Patient, even amidst the most trivial of matters, and willing to suspend his disbelief to the point of naivety. If there was anyone who would believe Akira about time travel, it’d be Yusuke.
But that was when Yusuke had a reason to trust Akira. They’re not at that point yet.
Akira looks out the window at a tall tree that’s long overdue for pruning, its neglected branches nearly scraping the roof of the house that it stands near for attention.
“There’s always something wrong, isn’t there?” Akira asks with a tired smile.
Yusuke appears to be of the mind to disagree before looking back at his sketch and contemplating something. “You may be right.”
Akira grabs his bag off the floor. “Let’s get some food. I’m in the mood for ramen, but –” He checks his wallet in the case someone reverse pickpocketed him and put some money in there. “Yeah, I’m broke. Leblanc’s the only option.” He chews his lip.
“Leblanc? I can’t say I’m familiar with the name. Is that a restaurant?” Yusuke asks, tucking his sketchbook under his arm as he moves for the door.
“It’s a café, but the owner makes the best curry you’ll ever have,” Akira says, reluctant to follow. “There’s one problem we’ll need to watch out for when we get there.” He checks the unread messages he’s been getting since the revelation that he was still in contact with Yusuke. None of them were from Akechi.
“It’s sort of haunted,” Akira says, a tangle of nerves creeping up his spine like frost on a cold winter morning.
“Haunted?” Yusuke asks, raising his sketchbook. “Fascinating. I’ve never had the opportunity to sketch a ghost before.”
“He’s more of a demon really,” Akira says. “Still figuring out whether he’s trying to kill me or just annoy me into handing over my soul. I mean, I think it’s the soul thing, but he could change his mind at any moment.”
“In the unfortunate event that you find yourself with no other choice but to sell your soul to this demon, would you mind making one of the terms of purchase allowing me to paint him?” Yusuke asks.
Akira’s laugh doesn’t leave his chest, but he grins as he pockets his phone, remembering Yusuke’s dismissal of Akechi at the gallery. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t want to paint him, but sure, if it makes you happy.”
“Excellent. Securing a demon as a model poses a rare opportunity.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no shortage of them where we’re going,” Akira says as they open the front door.
Madarame’s outside, scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up when he hears the door. “Ah, Yusuke. I was wondering if you were home. Is this a friend of yours?”
“Sensei, welcome home. Yes, Kurusu-san has agreed to model for me. He’s been a very cooperative subject so far.”
“I fell asleep,” Akira clarifies, trying to play nice until they get Yusuke in the metaverse. His friend is loyal to a fault. Akira would only needlessly complicate things by bringing up the truth Yusuke's been denying.
Yusuke hums something resembling a laugh. “He stays perfectly still. It’s a skill I hope he’ll retain while he’s awake,” he says. Akira shrugs. Yusuke draws so fast, Akira’s never really had to stay still for very long when Yusuke asked him to pose before. “I’ve been invited out for curry. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up on my way back, sensei?”
Madarame smiles with all the geniality of a kindly old man who’s never had an ill thought in his life. His eyes are the shape of care and empathy as they twinkle in faux affection. His act shoves Akechi’s nice guy routine in the dirt and suffocates it with used plastic wrap. “Don’t concern yourself with this old man, Yusuke. It’s rare to see you out with your friends, go have fun today. Do you need any money? I think I made a little extra this month if you wanted to buy something for yourself.”
Akira has never wanted to set someone on fire so much before.
“Thank you for your generosity, sensei, but it’s not necessary. I have enough saved to buy something if I need to.”
Akira wants to grab Madarame’s wallet, drain everything he has on lobster for Yusuke, and then introduce both the wallet and Madarame’s charred corpse to a hydraulic press.
“Perhaps when I’ve saved enough we can treat ourselves to the seafood buffet that opened downtown recently. How does that sound?”
Then Akira will eject anything leftover out of one of the airlocks in Okumura’s palace. He’s sure Akechi will help him out with all of the murder and cover up stuff since he’s been trying so hard to get on Akira’s good side.
“I look forward to it, sensei. Thank you.”
Akira has been spending way too much time with Akechi, he decides, and then tries to think less murderous thoughts. He thinks of fluffy cats. With very sharp claws and teeth that can slice human flesh like a steak knife.
Akira tunes out the high praise Yusuke lavishes Madarame with as they walk to the station. Even after he was originally exposed, Yusuke never managed to bring himself to genuinely hate the man who raised him and taught him to paint.
How Yusuke turned out is the only good thing Madarame accomplished in life.
When Leblanc is in view, Akira frowns and checks his phone again. Akechi isn’t the type of person to bombard his phone with messages like other friends who will remain unnamed but not unimplied – but Akira at least expected something condescending after Ann snitched on him earlier.
“Hey, could you wait here a minute?” Akira asks Yusuke, not waiting for a response as he jogs a step over in front of the glass door, peeking inside. It’s empty, save Sojiro, preoccupied with the TV. He waves Yusuke over.
“Welcome back,” Sojiro says as he enters, giving Yusuke a once-over as he trails in behind Akira. “You brought… a friend?” he asks with a level of doubt Akira has only ever heard from conspiracy theorists on the topic of the moon landing.
He dumps his stuff on the floor and gives him a look he hopes Sojiro translates to mean that Akira is tired of his presumptions that he runs around the city irresponsibly seducing men and women alike – then subsequently brings them to Leblanc while Sojiro was still there. Akira would at least wait until he left. He likes to think he’s a considerate person.
Yusuke bows formally and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kitagawa Yusuke. I’ve been informed that your café supplies the best curry that I’ll ever eat.”
“Feed us,” Akira summarizes.
And as sure as the inevitability of a printer having a paper jam, Sojiro finds himself helpless against the twin stares of broke high school students and pulls out the stock pot.
Yusuke doesn’t stay long after he eats, and Akira insists that he take all of the leftovers with him even though he suspects Sojiro made extra to bring home for himself and Futaba. Sojiro must notice what’s going on because he doesn’t say anything.
“Is that kid alright?” he asks afterwards.
Akira’s still watching the door, wishing he’d asked him to stay longer.
“No.”
A pause. “You know, butting your head into other peoples’ business is what got you into all this trouble to begin with. You should be careful.”
Akira purses his lips. “The night I was arrested,” he says, “Nothing happened to that woman. The man who called the cops left before he got too involved, but the woman stayed behind to finish giving her statement and probably went somewhere far away from the asshole who tried to force himself on her. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me.” He stands up and grabs his bag. “I’d do the same thing again.”
“Look, all I’m trying to say is –”
“I know what you’re saying,” Akira says, wishing he knew how to make everyone remember. “And you’re wrong. Add his food to my tab if it makes you feel better.”
He spends the rest of his night with his brain shut off while he single-handedly takes orders, cooks, and serves customers at the severely understaffed Beef Bowl Shop while his manager watches sitcoms in the back.
Everyone’s too apathetic.
And maybe it’s because he’s older now, but he can almost understand why.
He doesn’t want to understand.
Amends are made over the next couple days with Ann, Morgana, and Sojiro.
Sojiro knows he struck a nerve and tries to placate Akira the only way he knows how – with coffee lessons and tentatively letting Akira know that he wouldn’t mind parting ways with a little extra food if Yusuke showed up again.
“Where’s your boyfriend been?” Sojiro asks on Saturday morning.
Akira drains his coffee. “Which one?” he asks. “I have so many now, it’s hard to keep up.”
“The one who appreciates fine coffee.”
“Oh, you mean the one with the crippling caffeine addiction that you’ve been enabling? He’s probably on TV somewhere. You might find him if you flip through the channels long enough,” Akira says. Sojiro flicks his forehead. “Ow. I don’t know. I don’t talk to him all the time.”
“If he’s been having a rough time at work, you should try and do something for him. He takes you out all the time.”
Akira averts his eyes and fiddles with his empty cup.
He tries messaging him in class but doesn’t get a reply even after he sees the little message received checkmark.
At Yusuke’s request, he goes back to the shack that afternoon. He eyes the locked door that Madarame keeps all the counterfeits in as he passes by - The lock that needs to disappear. He has a few plans, but they’re all short sighted and don’t take Akechi’s potential retaliation into account.
In the time it takes for his eyes to fully open after blinking, he can see the glimmer of gold covering the walls.
“You seem troubled by something,” Yusuke deducts while Akira’s posing and mulling things over.
“Just a few things rolling around in my head that I can’t get back into place,” Akira says. “Any luck with the painting?”
“Not yet. It’s an elusive feeling that I’m trying to capture. Something that instinctively feels as though I already have it without the need to chase – yet dances away the moment I try to give it form. Perhaps it is beyond my current ability to paint you the way I intend.” Yusuke says. “It’s almost disorienting, trying to visualize this nostalgia I feel when I see you, despite the fact that when I draw your face it feels as though I’ve done so hundreds of times already.”
Akira ignores the lurch of his heart and asks, “Have you had any weird dreams lately?”
Yusuke crosses his arms and brings his paintbrush wielding hand up to his chin. “Dreams?” The brush drags a line of red across his face. “I did have a dream that I was an incredibly talented dancer the other night. You were there too, if I’m remembering correctly.”
“Was I dancing?”
“Yes.”
“Was I any good?”
“Almost as good as me, if I’m required to make an estimate,” Yusuke says. Akira drops his head to his hand and laughs. He missed this. “Laughter is a fitting look for you. I’ll have to try painting that next time. That is – if you’ll allow me your continued cooperation, of course.”
“Does that mean you’re giving up for the day? You haven’t painted much.”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost grasp of my focus. Painting won’t be so forthcoming now,” Yusuke says, belatedly noticing the brush he’s been tapping against his face. He wipes at the paint with the back of his hand, smudging red across his cheek.
Akira resists the urge to clean it himself.
“I have some money today if you’re hungry. We could get something cheap at Big Bang Burger? Or we can eat at Leblanc again.”
“I wouldn’t decline a burger. Even the inexpensive foods have their own unique charm.” Yusuke says, grimacing at the red splatter of paint on his collar.
Akira doesn’t know if he’d ever describe anything about Big Bang Burger as charming, but he thinks if Akechi ever asks him for help on his food blog again, he’s going to be referring him to Yusuke. On that note –
“And by the way – if you don’t think painting me is working out, I have a friend who I think you might be interested in painting. She already has experience modelling –”
By the time Sunday rolls around, Akira still hasn’t heard from Akechi. Messaging elicits no response, Sojiro confirms he still hasn’t been by for his usual cup of coffee, and even when Ryuji asks in the group chat if they could all make a trip to Mementos soon – nothing.
Akira stares at the green call button on his phone once he’s finished a shift at the flower shop. He hates that button, but he’ll press it if he must.
The line rings a few times before going dead.
Akira’s eye twitches.
Morgana peers down at him from the gate he jumped on. “Still no word from Akechi, huh?”
Akira clenches his teeth and sighs through his nose. “One day he’s all ‘Call me whenever you want to talk about your debilitating anxiety, Akira!’ and ‘Let me force myself into your life and steal all your time when you could be doing important things like saving the world, Akira!’, but suddenly it’s like ‘Oh, Akira’s calling, better pretend I’m dead.’ What if I was dying and wanted to tell him the name of my murderer and he just- disconnects the call?”
“Maybe you could write the murderer’s name on the floor with your blood?” Morgana suggests.
“What if I didn’t have any blood left to leave a message?”
“I think having no blood left would mean that you’re already dead.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter anyways since he’d probably be the one that killed me.”
“You could try going to his apartment?” Morgana suggests. “He can’t ignore you if you’re standing in front of the door.”
“I’m not going to stoop to his level,” Akira says through his teeth. He tries sending a nicer message.
Akira: Hey, sorry if you’re busy. Haven’t heard from you in a few days and wanted to know if you were okay.
“Maybe he’ll say something if we tell him we’re going to steal someone’s heart?” Morgana wonders.
“About that –” Akira tries to use the opportunity to bring up Madarame, but he’s interrupted by his phone.
Akechi: Can I meet you at Leblanc tonight?
That is way too short and to the point to be a message from Akechi.
Akira: You don’t have to ask. Are you okay?
Akechi: I’ll explain later.
“So, he’s coming to the café tonight?” Morgana asks, reading over his shoulder.
Akira shrugs and pretends it’s not relief that unravels the knot of stress that’s been building ever since Akechi went quiet. And if it is, it’s just because having Akechi in sight means he’s not doing anything too illegal.
Akechi shows up with a knock at the door after Leblanc closes, startling Akira into tearing a hole in his math homework with his pencil. Akira almost doesn’t recognize him at first – he’s wearing jeans and a hoodie with his hair tied back, a backpack slung over his shoulder instead of his usual briefcase. He looks identical to every college student Akira has ever met.
Akira unlocks and opens the door, Akechi tumbling in with a muttered thanks and a smile that emphasized the hollowness of his eyes.
“What the hell happened to you?” Akira asks as Akechi goes straight for the stairs.
“Work,” is all Akechi has to say.
Akira grabs his stuff off the counter before following him. He makes it up in time to see Akechi flopping face down on the bed.
“Are you going to sleep?” Akira asks, looking for help in the shape of Morgana and only finding an open window.
“Yes.”
“Okay, well – any reason why you’ve been ignoring all my messages?”
“You’re very distracting,” he says to the pillow.
Akira’s brows disappear under his hair. “How tired are you right now?” Akira asks.
“Extremely. In fact, let’s pretend I’m a normal person who requires sleep to survive.” Akechi says in a roundabout way of telling Akira to shut the fuck up.
“Okay, normal person.” Akira walks over and pats his head. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing special about you. Sleep well.” Akechi glares with one eye and rolls over. “By the way, I need to sleep too. That’s my bed.” Akechi scoots himself a few inches over as if expecting Akira to utilize the half foot of free space he’s made available. “…I’ll sleep on the couch. Can I have one of my pillows?” Akechi hugs the second pillow against himself. “No? Okay. I can live with excruciating neck pain, I guess.”
He wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck he can't coax out.
“Where’d you go last night?” Akira asks Morgana over breakfast. “You’ve been out a lot lately.”
“Just scouting a few places,” Morgana says, the sudden whip of his tail telling Akira that wasn’t the whole story. “The metaverse is always changing. Sometimes I like to get a sense of things if I haven’t been there for a while.” Akira hmms over his coffee while Sojiro looks between them. “When do you think Akechi’s going to wake up? I want to talk to him about going back into Mementos.”
Akira doesn’t know, so he rips a piece of his toast off and looks at the TV. No news about mental shutdowns or psychotic breaks, not that it does anything to help soothe his nerves.
“Akechi’s sleeping upstairs,” Akira tells Sojiro before he finds out on his own. “Just – so you know.”
Sojiro’s expression requests no further elaboration – please and thank you .
“I’ll set aside some breakfast for him,” he says with a sigh, already pulling out another plate. “I should open a soup kitchen at this point.” He makes a show of grumbling, but the words don’t bite.
“If you want paying customers, go find Akechi’s blog and tell all his fangirls that this is his favorite café. You could make your own blog and notify them whenever he’s here.”
Sojiro chuckles. “Not a bad idea. Having some cute girls around more often wouldn’t be too bad. But I’ll pass. I don’t want to liven things up too much around here – I’ve seen the audiences from his interviews.”
Akechi’s still asleep when Akira leaves for school. He leaves a mug of coffee out for him on the desk.
“Where’s Mona?” Ryuji asks at lunch. “I wanted to ask him some stuff about the metaverse today.”
“He stayed back at the café,” Akira says as he passively watches the Dr. Salt Neo he bought topple forward against the glass of the vending machine and refuse to fall.
“Must be nice getting to lounge around all day, every day.” Ryuji sighs before spotting Akira’s trouble. “These damned machines. I think this happens to me at least once a week. Hold up, I got you,” he says before shaking it a bit. When the drink doesn’t move, Ryuji gets a good grip on the top of it, puts a foot against the wall, and shakes with all his strength.
Death by vending machine is not an epitaph Akira wants on his grave, but it’s a close call as the hunk of glass and metal crashes forward, Ryuji and Akira scattering backwards in its wake.
“Oh, shit,” Ryuji’s voice shakes, but he’s grinning like this is the best thing to ever happen to him. He looks around for an escape route. “Let’s get outta here before anyone sees us.”
“ Whoa! What happened?” Mishima asks.
“Dude!” Ryuji says, skittering back. “Don’t sneak up on us like that, jeez . I thought you were a teacher or somethin’.”
“Did you guys break the vending machine?”
“It was like this when we found it, right Akira?”
Akira’s crouching down next to a steadily growing puddle of everything that was in the machine.
“What in the world is going on over here?” Kawakami asks as she rounds the corner. She gasps and eyes the three of them accusingly. Ryuji shuffles guiltily on his feet as he grins while Mishima holds up his hands in a silent attempt to explain he has no idea.
“It ate my 210 yen. Where do I go to get a refund?” Akira asks.
He never gets his refund.
The three of them receive a stern lecture after school from the principal on the topics of both safety and destruction of school property, but by a monumental stroke of luck manage to escape any punishment. Akira thinks it might be an attempt to stave off any rumors about vandalism – The school’s reputation is already in the shitter because of Kamoshida, damage control was probably all they could do now.
Ryuji whistles as they walk into the light of freedom. “Worth it,” he says.
“I wasn’t even there when it happened, why’d I get in trouble?” Mishima drags his feet as they walk.
Akira has bigger problems. For example, the murderer in his bed.
He tries to decipher the messages on his phone that say they’re from Akechi but look like he let Morgana have a go at writing something. Maybe he took Morgana hostage and made him write his own ransom note?
“He- ey. ” Ryuji says with a leer. “Look over there, those girls are checking us out.”
“What, really?” Mishima asks, having no sense of subtlety and turning around to look at them.
Ryuji grabs his shoulders and spins him back around.
“Man, it’s almost like you don’t know how this works.”
“How what works?” Mishima asks.
Ryuji turns to Akira for help. Akira’s too busy holding his phone upside down trying to decode cat-text.
“Dude.” Ryuji sighs in disappointment.
“I’m sorry, but – is your name Akira?” A voice he doesn’t recognize asks.
Akira looks up, ignoring Ryuji in the background elbowing Mishima and not quite whispering, “ Already using first names!”
“Can I help you?” Akira asks the girl he’s never seen before. If he had to guess, she was probably a third year.
“You’re friends with Akechi Goro, right?” she asks.
Akira doesn’t even want to know, so he immediately replies, “Who’s that?”
She seems a bit confused before glancing down at her phone and looking back up, getting cut off by Ryuji before she can say anything. “Yeah, we know that snobby – I mean, our good friend Akechi . We hang out all the time!” He throws his arm around Akira’s shoulders.
“Oh! I thought so. You’re in a couple pictures on his blog,” she says, holding up her phone to reveal a photo of Akechi showing off a cup of coffee at Leblanc with Akira still in his uniform slightly blurred out in the background. The caption says, ‘My favorite place to relax after a long day of work!’
“Akechi has a blog?” Ryuji asks. “Why am I even askin’. ‘Course he has a blog.”
“He usually says where he’s at when he posts something, but he’s keeping this one a secret.” The girl continues.
“How did you know my name?” Akira asks, ignoring her unspoken question.
“He mentions you a couple times –” She scrolls down some, “On this post he says you make the best cup of coffee in Japan and on this one – he added your commentary about a cake you two ate.” And there it was – Akira’s commentary of ‘It’s good,’ written right there next to his very own name. “So, I was wondering if maybe you could tell us where this is?” She brings up the first picture again, finally getting to the point. “We know he goes there to relax, so we won’t tell anyone else! We just want to meet him, that’s all!” She gestures to her friend who’s standing away, but within earshot.
Akira’s fine joking with Sojiro about bringing Akechi’s fangirls to the café, but in reality – the application of it would be absolute hell. Akira lives at Leblanc. He won’t destroy his own home.
“Tch, what do you want to meet him so much for?” Ryuji asks, excitement gone now that he knows the girls only care about Akechi. “He’s an ass.”
Both girls gasp and the friend who was standing away teleports over and shoves her phone in Ryuji’s face. “Don’t talk about him that way – he’s an angel .” On the screen is a glamor shot of Akechi with several filters that Akira knows not even Akechi would debase himself with.
He snaps a picture of the picture and sends it to Akechi. If he’s holding Morgana hostage, this should be good enough blackmail material to get him back.
“He’s just a detective! What’s so damned impressive about that?” Ryuji continues to hold his ground.
“He’s the new detective prince !” Girl One says.
“He’s a genius!” Girl Two says.
“He’s already solved thousands of cases that the police couldn’t solve over the past few years!”
“He’s gorgeous!”
Ryuji gets backed up across the courtyard while Akechi is aggressively defended.
Akira gets a legible message.
Akechi: Please delete that.
Akira: Let Morgana go free and we can talk.
Akechi: ? He wanted to practice using the phone. We’ve decided that a tablet would be necessary if he wants to join the group chat.
Akira: Buy him one or I’ll make sure everyone in the world sees that picture.
Akechi: I refuse to give into the demands of terrorists.
Akira snaps a shot of Ryuji being harassed.
Akira: Your fans are the real terrorists. They found out we know you.
“Oh, come on!” Ryuji says, trying to get back over to Akira and Mishima. “You’re acting like he’s some celebrity or somethin’.”
“He is sort of a public figure,” Mishima says.
“Huh?” Ryuji’s face squishes into itself. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you ever watch the news?” Mishima asks.
“Only when I’m tryin’ to fall asleep.”
“Akechi Goro’s a pretty popular guy right now,” Mishima explains.
Akechi: Morgana told me to tell you that Ryuji should be thanking me for indirectly introducing him to girls since he wouldn’t be able to meet them on his own.
Akira puts his phone away and tries to keep a straight face.
“I’m going – to uh,” Akira pauses when he notices the fangirls’ attention on him. “Go home now,” he finishes while stepping back. “Sorry, I’ll ask him the next time I see him if he can stop by Shujin sometime so you can meet him.” He makes a hasty escape, but the offer must have been good enough, because he isn’t followed.
Akechi’s sitting downstairs with Sojiro when Akira gets there.
“Have you really been here all day?” Akira asks, voice as dead as his childhood.
“No. I was at the bathhouse for a while and then I went out to pick up some groceries for Sakura-san so he didn’t have to close the café.”
“Are you me? Did we switch lives? Do I have to solve crime now?” Akira asks. Akechi laughs and twirls a strand of hair around his finger. And then – “Is that my shirt?”
“Sorry, I didn’t have a clean one on me. I’ve been out of the city until last night. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Akira makes the mistake of acknowledging Sojiro, who has surpassed smug and ascended to ‘I’ve just changed the Wi-Fi password and will never tell you what it is.’
“Where’s Morgana?”
“He said he needed some air,” Akechi says. The words don’t even phase Sojiro, who has quickly adapted to them talking to Morgana like he’s human. Akira takes a seat and stares at Sojiro until he pours him a cup of coffee. Akechi continues, “I apologize for not responding to your messages. It wasn’t a planned event and I had to give all my attention to what I was doing.”
“It was only a few days,” Akira says like he wasn’t expecting a heap of bodies to show up on the news that morning. “What kind of work do you do that takes you out of the city?”
Akechi swirls a bit of creamer into his cup. “I’m afraid I can’t say much, but I received a lead on something I’ve been looking into. It wasn’t easy, but I got what I needed.” He grins at Akira like he just spilt someone’s dirty secret to the world.
Akira really doesn’t like this.
“Sounds like it was time well spent,” Sojiro comments.
“There’s still a towering pile of work I’ll have to do before anything comes of it, but this will help me along significantly,” Akechi says, bright-eyed and with too much energy to be an act. Whatever he was doing must have been for himself, not Shido and his conspiracy.
Akira smiles like he’s happy for him.
“Why’d you come here instead of going home last night? You were exhausted,” Akira says.
Akechi leans forward and moves the hair from his eyes. It’s getting longer than he usually keeps it. “To be honest, I really wanted to wake up to a good cup of coffee. Surviving on instant coffee had me on edge.”
Akira points at Sojiro. “I told you. Crippling coffee addiction. You did this.”
Sojiro’s still smirking.
“By the way,” Akechi drawls, “What took you so long to get back home today? I can’t imagine those girls were holding you up for that long.”
“Me n’ Ryuji broke a vending machine at school.”
Sojiro groans. “Should I be expecting a phone call?”
“Probably,” Akira says.
Akechi’s shoulders hike up in silent laughter.
Morgana’s still gone when Sojiro leaves, but Akechi’s still there – lounging on the couch like he’s just won the lottery and won’t have to lift a finger for the rest of his life.
“Are you worried about Morgana?” Akechi asks, because he’s apparently wiretapped Akira’s brain.
“He’s been going out a lot,” Akira admits. “He says he’s been checking on things in the metaverse.”
Akechi asks, “You don’t believe him?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe him – I think he isn’t telling me something.”
“That’s fair, isn’t it?” Akechi asks. “You don’t tell him everything.”
Akira knows he’s outwardly referring to not telling Morgana about his palace, but the statement drops like a slap. He means something more complicated than that.
“Is that how it works?” Akira asks, every cat shaped shadow toying with his hope that Morgana was back. “Is it always going to be give a little to get a little?”
Akechi joins him at the window with a sigh. He changes the subject. “I forgot to ask earlier, but how did you do on your exams? Did all the studying pay off?”
“I did fine. Ann and Ryuji didn’t do so bad either. Life’s the only test I seem to be failing.” He adds that as a joke, but neither of them laugh. He twirls an unfinished lockpick in his hand. “Ah, forget it,” he says, turning away.
Akechi stops him with a grip on his shoulder. “Akira,” he says. He’s uncomfortably close.
“What?” Akira asks, focusing on a spot over his ear.
It’s getting difficult to ignore the way Akechi looks at him.
The restraining grip on his shoulder relaxes into something soft enough to be called a caress, but he doesn’t break free.
The searchlights that promote Madarame’s palace flicker in the distance from the corner of his eye.
Akechi runs his hand a little lower, rests it there a moment, then pats his arm as he smiles amicably and pulls away. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You really have a terrible habit of letting your mind wander off into places it shouldn’t.”
Akira takes a deep breath.
“By the way,” Akechi continues, “I heard from Sakura-san that you brought Kitagawa-san to Leblanc?”
Akira turns back to the window, hoping the cool evening air will bring back the sense to his thoughts. “Yeah. He’s a living, breathing beanpole. I think he gets too caught up in painting and forgets to eat. I don’t think that Madarame guy is helping much, either.”
“Aha, so you’re letting him paint you, after all?”
“He doesn’t know what exactly he wants to paint yet. I think he’d be better off trying to paint Ann, if she’d let him.”
“I have a hard time imagining Ann-chan sitting still for an extended period of time,” Akechi says as he sits on the bed, grabbing Akira’s laptop.
Akira immediately pries his grubby fingers off it and puts it on a shelf at the opposite end of the room. “Leave my laptop alone.”
“I tried to figure out your password while you were at school, but it seems like you finally took my advice on something,” Akechi says.
“Go home and stop invading my privacy,” Akira says.
“Have something on there you don’t want anyone to see?”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Ah, please don’t make me work on my day off.”
Akira throws a book at him.
When Akira should already be asleep, Morgana creeps through the window with the excuse that he got lost exploring the neighborhood.
He’s not a good liar, but Akira doesn’t press him. Not yet.
He calls it a night after he finishes the lockpick intended for the door in Madarame’s shack.
The bed doesn’t feel right anymore.