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There was a certain amount of pride that came with being the problem-solving friend. Not only was it great for Akira’s sense of self-worth, but he also genuinely enjoyed being able to help the people he cared about. He couldn’t always find the right words to express how much his friends meant to him, but he showed his love through his actions and unfaltering support. However, when Akira woke on a Sunday morning to the sound of his phone buzzing before it was even light out, he felt a little like he was being taken advantage of. Particularly since Akechi didn’t seem to harbor any remorse for waking for him.
“This is a courtesy call to let you know that I’m on my way.”
“Akechi,” Akira said. His face was smushed into a pillow and it sounded more like ‘Ahkhehi.’ “This can’t wait until the store’s open?”
“I need to speak with you now,” Akechi insisted.
The background noise over the phone sounded like Akechi was on a train. He wasn’t bluffing, then. Akira sighed. “Let yourself in. I’m going back to sleep until you get here.”
“I don’t have a key, Kurusu.”
“So?” Akira grumbled. I know you can pick a lock, asshole.
Akechi paused before answering. Akira nearly fell asleep, but jerked awake when he finally spoke. “I’ll be there in seven minutes.”
“Great.” Akira dropped the phone and passed out again.
Akira woke up seven minutes later to the sound of a bell and the front door being closed. He slung his legs out of bed and sat up just in time for Akechi to reach the top of the top of the stairs. Akira rubbed a hand over his face and back through his hair, but his finger snagged in a tangle. He carefully yanked it free and the discomfort from the tug on his scalp brought him closer to full consciousness.
“Akechi. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Watch this,” Akechi said. He raised his hand, pointed a gun at his head, and-- indifferent to the dawning horror on Akira’s face-- he pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Akechi did it a few more times to demonstrate. The room was tense and silent except for the click click click of the gun doing nothing. But then, Akechi pointed the gun at the ceiling and this time Akira could hear the sound of two gunshots, muted by the silencer. A small shower of splinters rained down.
Akechi started to return the gun to his head and Akira launched himself out of bed and across the room in a heartbeat. They grappled for the gun, but Akira was still sluggish with sleep and Akechi shoved him off.
“I said watch.”
Akechi placed the gun under his chin this time and Akira flinched badly when he pulled the trigger, but once again nothing happened. Akechi clicked it a few more times, looking bored, then raised it to the ceiling and shot another hole in Leblanc’s roof.
“See what I mean?”
Any relief Akira felt about Akechi not being dead was swallowed up by a familiar swell of hurt and betrayal. The sudden ferocity in his eyes startled Akechi and Akira ripped the gun from his hands. Dexterous fingers immediately went to work, releasing the magazine so that it fell to the floor and pulling back on the slide to knock a bullet loose from the chamber. Akira tossed the empty gun onto the bed behind him so that he stood between it and Akechi. He carefully tucked his emotions away and regarded Akechi with his usual cool gaze, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms since he didn’t trust them not to shake.
“That was uncalled for.” Akechi was clearly annoyed with him, like Akira was the one being overly dramatic at six in the fucking morning.
“How about you stop putting holes in my roof?” Akira’s suggestion had a casual lilt to it, giving away none of his anxiety. Whether intentional or not, Akechi had unsettled him. He was reminded of Shido’s cruise ship and the helplessness he’d felt when the wall slid shut between them.
“I would prefer to put the holes in my skull, but apparently you have taken that option away from me.”
“You think… that I made you bulletproof? And this couldn’t have waited until regular operating hours?”
“Technically, it’s not bulletproofing. The gun simply chooses not to function whenever I point it at myself.” Akechi glared accusingly at Akira, as though waiting for him to admit responsibility for the wrongs he’d committed. “You did something! I certainly didn’t ask to be un-killable.”
Akira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Akechi, did you try to kill yourself?”
“Of course not,” Akechi scoffed. He rolled his eyes when Akira stared in disbelief at him. “I had a hypothesis and I decided to test if it was correct. And, of course, I was.”
Akira took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head. Arguing with Akechi under normal circumstances was already an exercise in tactfulness, but Akechi could become especially insufferable when he felt that he was right about something. Especially when he showed up before dawn to prove a point.
“Well?” Akechi prodded when Akira remained sullen and silent. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“You want me to apologize for making you impossible to kill?” Akira asked. Because of course Akechi would find a way to be offended by the gift of invulnerability.
“Impossible?” Akechi echoed in astonishment. He looked more horrified at the idea of not being able to die than Akira thought was appropriate. “You mean it isn’t exclusive to guns? I didn’t consider variables...”
“How should I know? I didn’t do it on purpose. If I was the one who even did it.” Akira didn’t ask why Akechi assumed his newfound invulnerability would only extend to guns, or why he believed that Akira was responsible for it. He could think of a few reasons on his own, but none of them were very pleasant. “I don’t suppose you would listen if I asked you not to do the thing that I suspect you’re going to do?”
“I would not, and I am doing it,” Akechi confirmed. “Come along, Kurusu. We’re going to see if I can die in your new reality.”
We need to get you a different hobby, Akira thought. He yawned widely, stretching his arms over his head, and decided that the first step was getting Akechi out of there before Sojiro came to open up. “Fine, but you’re taking me to Big Bang for coffee and a breakfast burger.”
“Disgusting,” Akechi said, which Akira registered as a begrudging agreement.
From the notebook of Akechi Goro, a log of the ways in which he tried to kill himself (with commentary by Kurusu Akira):
-
Location: Leblanc
Item: kitchen knife
Result: I attempted to stab myself in the throat, but the blade detatched from the handle as soon as it touched my skin. An examination of the wood handle revealed that it had somehow rotted away on the inside, the outside appearing unmarked.
(K: You’re replacing that knife while we’re out today) -
Location: Yongenjaya Station
Item: train
Result: I attempted to jump off the platform in front of a moving train, but Kurusu physically prevented me from doing so.
(K: You owe me a coffee before you try that again) -
Location: Shibuya Station
Item: stairs
Result: I attempted to throw myself down the stairs to the underground walkway and accidentally performed a very ambitious backflip. I landed on my feet at the base of the stairs.
(K: Fucking fuck) -
Location: Shibuya Station
Item: train
Result: I threw myself off the Ginza platform in front of a moving train. I miscalculated the jump and fell between the tracks, falling unconscious momentarily and lying underneath the train as it passed overhead.
(K: Fuck shit fuck) -
Location: Shibuya, in an alley off Central Street
Item: noose
Result: I purchased a new length of rope from the general store and surveyed the area for the best place to hang myself, with Kurusu’s assistance. We selected a fire escape that was newer in appearance and I tied a hangman’s knot with the rope, using a discarded milk crate as the launch point. Kurusu refused to kick the crate out from under me, so I jumped off of it. The fire escape, though sturdy in appearance, had not been properly affixed to its building and part of it broke free, sending a cascade of brick and metalwork over us. However, we were unharmed and quickly vacated the area.
(K: I deserve a second coffee)
“Are you quoting me in your diary?”
Akechi snapped his notebook shut and tucked it away in his briefcase, his expression neutral. Akira had approached him from behind the bench, slinging a leg over the back to step into the seat instead of circling around the front. This casual lack of regard for decorum reminded him distinctly of Sakamoto. Akechi had half-formed a scathing remark about it until Akira handed him one of the canned coffees he’d bought. Surprised by the gesture, Akechi forgot to say anything and accepted it with a nod.
“I write about you, too.” Akira popped open the coffee and promptly downed half of it.
Akechi didn’t know what to do with that, so he left it alone. He hadn’t opened the coffee right away but held it with both hands, enjoying the warmth. He frowned at the familiar logo on the can and wondered if Akira actually remembered the brand he preferred or if it was a coincidence. Akira had selected the same black coffee for himself, so maybe it didn’t mean anything. The same way it didn’t mean anything when Akira suggested that they go to Kichijoji to cool off, an area that Akechi loved because it was busy enough to get lost in but not so crowded that he couldn’t hear himself think.
Engaging with sentimentality was like trying to successfully wade through quicksand; most of it was based on conjecture and one wrong move could kill you.
It might have already killed Akechi.
“Although you were able to keep your mind when Maruki first warped reality, you must be sure to remain vigilant,” Akechi said. He was still looking down at the can, but not really seeing it. “Our way of thinking is an aberration, so the environment itself may attempt to warp our cognition if we’re not careful. Don’t disappoint me by being drawn in by it.”
“I’d never dream of it,” Akira joked, earning him a sharp look from Akechi. “I know it looks nice on the surface, but this place feels inherently wrong to me. I don’t exactly love it when I get a fresh batch of trauma that I’ll never be able to talk to a licensed medical professional about.”
Akechi considered Akira for a moment. “You do tend to use humor as a shield when you’re discomfited.”
“You know how it goes. Being witty sometimes excuses me from having a shitty personality,” Akira said in perfect deadpan, so that Akechi wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted. “What else am I gonna do? I guess I could cry and break down about it but...”
“No. I won’t let you break,” Akechi stated. Because this was a fact and not because he felt anything except for animosity and begrudging respect for his rival.
Maddeningly, Akira seemed to take the exact opposite of what Akechi had intended to convey. His expression softened and he put a hand on the bench between them, not quite touching Akechi’s leg.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Akechi scoffed.
“This?”
“I’ve been feeling an urge to be more...” Akechi’s expression twisted with disgust and he spat the final two words, “Emotionally available.”
Akira pulled his hand away from Akechi and fiddled with a lock of hair in an attempt to conceal his amusement. “You’ve said that before, about us having a connection. So that’s something you already felt, right?”
“I don’t know,” Akechi admitted, sounding more bitter than he intended to. “Being death-defiant makes it obvious that Maruki’s reality has already impacted me physically. Why not mentally as well?”
“And it’s weird that it’s only outside of the Metaverse. Maybe he thinks it’s an incentive to stay here?” Akira mused, but Akechi’s stern gaze returned. “What?”
“Do you know what wish Maruki granted for you?”
“I wanted everyone I care about to be safe and happy. And I wanted to stay in Tokyo. Were any of your wishes granted?”
“Maruki didn’t make this world for me.” It wasn’t really an answer, but Akechi couldn’t stand to say ‘I don’t know’ twice in the same conversation. But if Akira noticed that he was being evasive, he gave no indication.
“Is your diary different? Mine is.”
“How so?”
“A lot of it’s the same, except all the Metaverse notes are gone. And some of the events and people are different.”
Akira balanced his coffee on the arm of the bench and took the small, black notebook out of his coat pocket. He angled it towards Akechi so that he could watch while he flipped through it, revealing surprisingly neat handwriting in black and red ink. It wasn’t so much a diary as it was a daily journal and Akechi was disappointed to learn that Akira used it for recording tasks he performed instead of writing down any secret, personal thoughts. If this was all Akira had meant by ‘writing about’ him, then Akechi was glad he hadn’t taken the bait.
“Kamoshida’s harassment is just regular volleyball stuff now, and I guess I was a temporary manager for the team. We had a party for Suzui when she left and then again when she came back…”
“I don’t know who that is,” Akechi said, already bored. He knew exactly who Suzui Shiho was, but he wasn’t in the mood to humor Akira by pretending to care about her.
“Right.” Akira had the nerve to smirk knowingly at him, but he skipped ahead so that he was closer to the ribbon that marked today’s date. “Here’s when we had your welcoming party and you joined the Phantom Thieves--”
“What.”
“--well, not the Thieves, since we’re not in this universe. So, it must’ve been a ‘welcome to our friend group’ party.” Akira grinned like a cat who’d caught the canary and Akechi had an urge to knock his coffee onto the sidewalk. “The days where we hang out are still mostly the same. The jazz club, billiards… Is your diary like this, too?”
“I haven’t noticed anything unusual,” Akechi said. “I would have to check, but it probably hasn’t changed. I mostly use it for making lists.”
Akira flipped through the final few weeks, passing the ribbon. He moved to close the book, but Akechi grabbed his wrist.
“Hold on. I saw my name.”
“Yes,” Akira agreed, “That’s what I was showing you.”
Akechi hummed in annoyance and opened the diary to a week in mid-February. In Akira’s handwriting on Tuesday the 14 th , was a reservation at Jazz Jin for the two of them.
“Oh,” Akira said. He sounded surprised but not alarmed, like Akechi thought he should be.
“Did you write this?”
“Technically--” Akira stopped short at the look on Akechi’s face. “No. This was altered, just like the rest of it.”
“Of course.” Akechi let go of him. Quicksand.
“Do you want to go to there?” Akira asked, tucking the diary away.
“Not today. Of course Maruki would attempt to ruin even that for me.” Akechi rolled his eyes and finally cracked his coffee open.
“I meant, do you want to go there with me on Valentine’s Day?”
Akechi spat coffee onto the sidewalk and coughed. Akira offered him a handkerchief, but Akechi slapped his hand away and glowered. “What did I just tell you about the environment warping your perception!”
Akira’s expression was carefully blank. He offered the handkerchief to Akechi again. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Akechi accepted it this time, dabbing politely at his mouth and pointedly ignoring the drawings of a sad egg that were printed on the handkerchief. “Still, I wonder what Maruki intended by making me resistant to death.”
“Resistant to suicide,” Akira clarified. He and Akechi shared a look, both of them thinking the same thing. “Don’t ask me to kill you.”
“I’m not going to. I suspect that you’re correct and it only applies to suicide. Stranger still, since I wouldn’t describe myself as suicidal.”
“And yet, you tried to kill yourself at least five times today.”
“Because I knew it wouldn’t work.”
“What was your plan for after you defeated Shido?” Akira asked suddenly.
“I-- what?”
“What were you going to do after you killed Shido? Return to your fake life as the Detective Prince?” Anger began to color Akira’s tone. “Maybe fill the government with puppets of your own? Did you want to test the limits of how far you could manipulate the Metaverse? Or did you want to start fresh and go to college?”
“I don’t see how any of that matters now,” Akechi snapped. “You dealt with Shido for me.”
“I dealt with Shido for me. So, what do you want to do now, Akechi?”
“Obviously, I want to win,” Akechi growled. “I want to beat Maruki and leave this place. I’d happily kill him, if you’d let me. I won’t live in a cage, no matter how gilded.”
“And then what?”
“Stop wasting my time with--”
“Aren’t you curious why it was only the two of us? Everyone else was under Maruki’s power,” Akira mused. “I think there are two possible answers here. The first is that we have similar Metaverse powers. We’re both Tricksters, handpicked by the gods of that place.”
Akechi was tempted to nitpick about what did and did not qualify as a deity, but he shelved that argument for later. “And the other?”
“Your wish contradicts mine so completely that it can’t be granted. I want you to live. And you want to die.”
Akechi considered himself to be an extremely insightful person. He could read others very well after having spent his adolescence pulling people apart both figuratively and cognitively. He hated that Akira could do the same thing but that his skills, unlike Akechi’s, were strengthened and refined by his empathy. And, even worse, Akira used this power to aid the people he cared about, never taking advantage of them.
Brainless, predictable, dull Akira. He was always miles out of Akechi’s league, no matter what reality they were in.
Instead of dipping into his rage-- it was always there, burning like a molten core-- and lashing out like he wanted to, Akechi threw back his head and laughed like Akira had just said something spectacularly stupid. “When it comes down to it, you really are quite the narcissist.”
Akira sighed a little and went back to drinking his coffee, apparently unimpressed with Akechi’s response. The bench they were on was outside of Kichijoji station and he watched a group of people waiting at a crosswalk. “I guess I’ll have to wait until we get back.”
That was definitely more bait, but Akechi went for it anyway. “For what?”
“To ask you out,” Akira said. “You won’t believe me while we’re here, right?”
Akechi clicked his tongue in disapproval, but his ears turned pink. “You truly are an idiot.”
“Sure, but I’m a cute idiot. You’d at least want to see what I’d wear, right? All dressed up for Valentine’s Day.”
“No.” Akechi absolutely wanted to see that. “I still hate you. Completely loathe you, in fact.”
“Cool.” Akira stood up and, after carefully aiming, he threw his empty can. It soared in a wide arc and landed neatly in a recycling bin. “Anyway, let’s go to that kitchen store when you’re done with your coffee. You still owe me a knife.”