Archive of Our Own

Akira wants to go home.

There’s been this fuzziness pushing insistently at the edges of his brain, whining and crying for attention, demanding that he leave the decisions to the grown-ups, wishing he had someone to tell him exactly what to do.

He’s been ignoring it ever since he slipped in the aquarium and had to have Akechi, of all people, witness him being childish and embarrassing and annoying.

He must have been a burden. 

Akira shakes his head, muzzling the voice. He’s a grown-up with grown-up responsibilities. He has people relying on him to keep them safe and schoolwork that needs doing when he gets home and jobs he can go to after that so he can get money for better weapons and better gear so his teammates don’t get as hurt and then if not that then he should be spending time with his friends because if he doesn’t then they’ll get bored of him and leave--

And now Akechi is watching him, scanning him up and down. Akira can tell he’s unhappy with him, judging by the way his lips thin in dissatisfaction, the way his eyebrows furrow in concealed anger.

Akira’s chest hurts.

He shakes his head again. Those are childish thoughts and he needs to stop thinking them right now.

But the thick lump lodged in his throat, one that’s refused to leave since the day began grows in weight and size even as he stabs through the head of a Shadow.

The deeper they trek into Mementos, the more difficult the fights become, enemies growing crueler--and the list of things they have to do doesn’t seem to get any shorter even though it definitely is. 

Akira wishes that they knew about his regression, sometimes. Especially in moments where none of his normal coping mechanisms work, where he longs for something more substantial and meaningful, where that young voice in his head daydreams aloud about having Sojiro feed him a sippy cup full of apple juice or playing video games with big brother Shinya.

And little him daydreams about spending time with his friends, too. And Akira wants to believe in his friends, he really does. But every time he opens his mouth on a particularly bad day--wanting to ask Ryuji to walk him home while holding his hand, or Ann to buy the sweetest, most sugary confection from the window, or any of the other similar nonsensical demands from the others--the words freeze on his tongue, clog his throat, his mind screaming danger, danger, don’t do it, don’t do it, you know what happened last time.

His little self is…naive. Small. Vulnerable. And an inextricable part of himself, who he is. 

He knows exactly what it’s like to have it rejected and ridiculed.

And so it is that each and every attempt, he closes his mouth and brushes his friends off when they ask him if anything is wrong. 

Unknown, but safe. He can handle that--he has lots of practice.

He doesn’t know why Akechi is different. That one day in the aquarium was a fluke that he still doesn’t understand--one second he was fine, a little stressed maybe, but enjoying Akechi’s presence, and the next his hand was in Akechi’s, being led along like a duckling, and he was having fun.

Thoughts of the aquarium make him think longingly of burrowing into his bed in the attic, dragging the covers over his head and pulling Fifi, his stuffed stingray, appearance so alike to the real thing, close to his chest and shoving his face into her fluffy body, curling up tight around her and thinking of how it felt to have her swim up to him, over and over again, just for a little bit of petting.

Like Akira was special.

As they ride the Mona-Bus to the lower floors of Mementos to clear what’s hopefully the last round of requests he squeezes his hands, trying to fight the urge to complain. 

He pauses at how the leather of his gloves feels a bit like Fifi’s real skin did. Really, it’s not similar at all, but the roughness of the texture is having a soothing effect on him, so he keeps doing it--spreading his hands wide, fingers splayed as far as they can go, and then curling them back into tight fists, breathing a tad easier, the fuzz receding like low tide.

He can still feel Akechi’s eyes on him, watching his hands through his periphery. Akira pretends not to notice, a little uncomfortable being scrutinized. It intensifies the need to hide.

Unfortunately, he can’t magically melt into Morgana’s upholstery.

He can see Akechi opening his mouth, and he bites his bottom lip, hoping that he’ll get interrupted or something, anything to prevent him from asking any dangerous questions--

Suddenly the car jerks, the back end being lifted up, and everyone shouts in surprise simultaneously as they get spit out unceremoniously onto their butts. They're caught off guard, and a large Shadow they’ve never seen before towers, looms, lords over them.

Or maybe it just feels that way to Akira, since the rest of his teammates spring to their feet while he’s still paralyzed on the ground, hands quivering, eyes wide, heart pounding a frantic beat against his sternum.

The Shadow's horrifying yellow eyes lock onto him, and Akira wants to turn around and run away, he wants to flee, he wants to curl up and cry for help.

But he needs to protect his team. They're important to his big--to him.

He rolls away when the Shadow swipes at him with his duo blades, and he stifles a sound of pain-fear as it nicks his shoulder, hurt flaring.

As his teammates launch spells and attacks to distract the Shadow temporarily he scrambles to his feet and draws his dagger, running to form the point of their offensive, right in front, right where he’s supposed to be.

His knees wobble. 

Akira does his best to direct his team, brain churning through the increased fuzziness to try and remember who’s strong in what element, what skills they have, what’s the most advantageous position for them to be in. He can tell he’s slower than he was even just earlier in the infiltration, not fast enough, not smart enough, not fit for leadership--and his team pays the price in injuries and shouts of pain.

He ignores the way Akechi keeps snatching glances at him in between each wave of attacks.

The mean Shadow doesn’t stop targeting him, using its weapon in confusing ways and Akira normally doesn’t have a problem avoiding attacks but his feet are clumsy and his arms are heavy and he keeps getting nicked and it hurts and the shouts of his teammates are loud and his head won’t stop pounding and insisting that he shouldn’t be making any decisions and that someone else should be in charge for a while but he can’t do that because they’re in Mementos and he’s the leader. 

This fight isn’t fair, isn’t fair, isn’t fair. 

Akira wants to go home. 

He tries to console himself with the fact that the fight is almost over. That they only have to do this for just a little bit longer, and then they’ll be done.

He bites his tongue to staunch the beginnings of a whine when he remembers they still have more to do after this, growing angry with--with that smaller part of himself that’s trying to force him to rest. He doesn’t need rest, he just needs to finish and then he’ll be fine. He just needs to get out of Mementos, and then he’ll be fine.

Akechi creates an opening with his gun, a beam of light firing directly into the Shadow’s eye, and Akira takes this chance to prove himself, diving towards the unprotected side of the Shadow, wildly swiping his dagger, finding purchase in its matted fur and through its tough flesh.

Akira catches himself before he falls, off-balance. He spins around, holding his dagger in front of him protectively, but thankfully he seems to have landed the killing blow, as it’s on its knees, weapons dropped, already turning into black shadowy wisps. 

But then it roars a blood curdling scream and Akira’s fingers tighten around the handle of his dagger in terror, slamming both of his hands over his ears to try and mitigate the sheer amount of noise filtering in, the sharp edge of his knuckles digging into his right ear painfully. He sees the others jump back in surprise, none as affected as he is.

The Shadow notices. Even as its legs fade it rapidly forms a consuming shadowy orb in its mangled hands and hurls it with deadly accuracy at Akira.

It’s all he can hear, all he can see, and he stares frozen as the sun-eating spell hits him dead on in the chest.

Black, curdling smoke billows forth and consumes his vision, cursed black and red wisps swallowing light and tossing him into darkness.

He thinks he screams, but it…it doesn’t hurt. But even as he thinks that his body contorts, stretching and squeezing like taffy, molding like clay, turning familiar into foreign. His skin feels tighter, closing in on him like a constricting snake, until his stomach drops like it does when falling from the top of the stairs, and then he fits inside his own body again.

Is he standing? Sitting? It feels like he’s on air. Maybe he’s falling.

The smoke clears away. Light returns in pinpricks and drops.

When did everything get so...so big?

It's dark. It smells wet, like how it does when he uses a towel too much without washing it, mildewy and sick. He hears frantic calls of his name, but it’s also not his name, which is weird. If that’s not his name why does he recognize that they’re talking to him?

Nothing is familiar.

He thinks he has a dagger. He tries to reach for it, he faintly recalls it’s important but he doesn't remember where he put it.

He looks down at his body, heart jumping into his throat when he realizes he doesn't know what he's wearing. A black jacket hangs off his hands, sleeves trailing almost to the floor. His shoes are too big and hurt his heels and his shirt and pants bunch around his shoulders and tummy, and all of it is too big for him.

He remembers that he’s in Mementos…whatever that name means. His memories are all hazy, shadows of a fish in wavy water, wriggling away even when he manages to grab them.

“Joker!”

He whips his head up in startled surprise, limbs locking up when he sees a large group of people running up to him, all of them taller, looming over him. 

But then they stop when they see him, their mouths dropping open in surprise and it makes him feel bad. It makes him feel like he should hide and be smaller so they don’t see him.

He thinks he feels the world get a little bit bigger at that moment. 

“Is that…really him?” one of them with brown hair and a flowing scarf says, and that’s when Akira notices that they’re all wearing masks and he can’t really see their faces. 

“I mean, he looks a lot like him…” another one says. She has long blonde pigtails and is looking straight at him. She's...familiar? Akira doesn't remember where he's seen her or if he's actually remembering her at all.

“That spell wasn’t like anything we’ve seen before,” the shorter one with orange hair says, green electric screens in front of her like how he’s seen in those alien movies he hadn't been allowed to watch, only looked longingly at through glass store fronts. She's familiar in the same way, but stronger, as if he sees her more often than the other girl. “But I’m thinking it might be something along the same lines as a Rattled effect.”

“But if that’s true, then why hasn’t he turned back to normal? The battle’s over.” 

Akira doesn’t understand what they’re talking about. 

He quickly scans their faces as they whisper behind their hands to each other, the bad feeling in his tummy growing when he realizes that he doesn’t recognize any of them beyond that weird familiar feeling.

Until he does.

Akira knows that brown hair. He remembers those red eyes. Surrounded by blue and watching him with some sort of soft feeling he doesn’t know how to name but made him feel safe and warm and good.

“Gogo!” he cries and runs to him, but then his tiny feet get caught in the stupid ends of his stupid, oversized, too big jacket and he trips halfway there, landing painfully on his chin.

It hurts. 

A sort of noise climbs up his chest and makes his throat hot and heavy as it passes through, escaping into the open air before he can stop it.

Goro watches as Akira recognizes him, his heart stuttering in his chest when he calls him by his nickname and runs to him--in all his too big clothes and missing mask.

When he sees Akira fall to the ground a weight sinks in his stomach like a brick dropped from a twenty story apartment complex.

And then Akira looks up at him, his face scrunching up, eyes watering as big tears fall down his cheeks, a sob echoing in the hollow tunnel. 

Oh no.

He just barely holds himself back from running to him, instead taking a measured jog and kneeling down, unsure if he should touch or how to help. He lifts up his mask so he doesn’t accidentally poke him with the sharp beak.

“Are you alright?” he asks tentatively, making sure to keep his voice calm and level. He read an article on how the energies of those who are older are contagious for smaller children, which is not something he spent his free time reading up on after their time in the aquarium.

“It h-hurts, Gogo,” Akira manages around his hiccups, looking up at him with watery eyes. 

Akira really is incredibly small right now, and clearly regressed. Goro had been noticing the signs as they fought their way down--the wobbling of his lip, the unusual clumsiness, the hesitancy to commit to a decision. The nail in the coffin had been when he’d handed driving duties to Niijima, choosing instead to sit in the back with Goro, hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs. 

He knew that pointing out Akira’s need to stop for the day would only make him more stubborn and insist that they stay, so he was about to mention that he himself was tired when they’d been ambushed and Akira got hit by that spell because Goro was too slow.

And now here they are, surrounding an Akira whose mental age matches the size of his body. 

“I know,” Goro attempts to soothe, trying to think of any healing items he has that might appeal to a five-year-old, anything to make it better. “You’ll be okay.”

He’s about to ask if he can touch him when Akira makes that decision for him, pushing himself up from the ground and latching his tiny arms around him--they don’t even reach all the way around him--and burying his face into Goro’s front.

Goro's arms automatically wrap around Akira's back and pull him close like he wanted to do at the aquarium but didn't have the guts to do at the time.

He doesn't know what to say, but Akira doesn't seem to care, shoving his face into Goro's chest hard enough that he can feel the pressure of his forehead on his sternum.

He remembers his mother rubbing his back when he was upset, and so that's what he does here, hoping that Akira won't notice the way his hands shake.

He feels the warmth of healing magic wash over the both of them, and Akira’s cries soften to quiet snuffles as Morgana dismisses Zorro in a burst of blue. 

“Better?” the cat asks, walking up to them.

Akira sniffles and nods, not removing his face from it’s hiding place. Goro cautiously threads his fingers into his curls and holds him closer.

There’s a tentative silence as the rest of the Thieves watch them, seemingly stunned by both of their behaviors, but they can never keep quiet for long.

“What do we do now?” Sakamoto asks loudly, rubbing the back of his head. “We can’t just leave him like this!”

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know!” Takamaki retorts just as loudly, and Goro fights the urge to snap at them when Akira flinches visibly at the volume of their voices.

"We need to leave Mementos, first and foremost," Goro interjects at a much more appropriate volume, effectively silencing their pointless bickering. “We can discuss a course of action once we make our exit, since our safety matters more at the present moment. Mona, please turn back into a car. Queen, you drive us to the nearest platform so we can jump to the entrance."

"Who made you the leader?" Sakamoto mumbles under his breath, far too loudly.

Goro rolls his eyes internally, but holds his tongue, tugging Akira closer to him and trying not to coo at him when he snuggles into the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. 

"Does that sound like a good plan for everyone?" he adds amicably. No need to blow his cover over their idiocy just yet.

There’s a pause as everyone shares a look before a general murmur of consensus rumbles through the group. Goro gives them his most polite smile. 

“Excellent,” he says cheerily, turning to Morgana. “If you would, Mona?”

The cat nods and backs up to safely turn back into a car, the others making their way over to pile in.

“Do you need any help?” Takamaki asks him, looking at the young Akira in his arms with furrowed brows and concern in her eyes.

Goro shakes his head, possessively squeezing the little one tighter. “I have it handled. Thank you for the kind offer, Panther.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she makes her way over to the car and steps inside anyway.

Goro loosens his hold, aware that he might have been holding on too tight. He pulls back a little to make eye contact with Akira, reaching up to wipe away the remnants of tears with his thumb.

“Can you walk?” he whispers softly, doing his best to be gentle. “Or would you like me to carry you?”

Akira blinks and reaches up with his sleeve covered hands, a silent answer, his big eyes shining in anticipation.

Goro allows himself to smile softly. “Okay,” he says, gathering the baby up in his arms, one hand going to support his head. “Up we go.”

Akira clings to him tightly, but Goro thinks he can hear a soft giggle from him as he stands up. 

Akira wriggles in his hold, adjusting his legs until he's pressed as close as he can be. Goro squeezes him just a little tighter, doing his best to subtly nuzzle into the side of the little one's head, curls brushing against his nose.

He carefully makes his way to the car, staring down at the disgusting Mementos floor to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything, settling into the passenger seat once he reaches the car. He would prefer it if they had seatbelts just in case they crash, but there’s not much he can do to fix that particular grievance since Mona didn’t deem it necessary to manifest them, apparently. His fingers wind into Akira’s too-big jacket, a poor excuse for physical protection.

And that’s not the only thing--he’d prefer to drive, as he’s not one to rely on other people’s skills in any kind of situation--this one is no exception. But little Akira simply holds too much power over him, and the way he clings to Goro’s white costume goes a long way to mitigate his anxiety, if only because he prevents him from being able to drive. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen Joker be this quiet before,” Okumura pipes up as Niijima starts up the car. “It’s a little worrying.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Noir. Joker always bounces back even when he gets hit with that weird status thing that turns him into a mouse,” Sakamoto says.

“Yeah, he never lets a status ailment slow him down,” Takamaki weighs in, leaning her arms against the backseat. 

“I’ve seen him take down a powerful Shadow even when he was afflicted with Fear before,” Niijima adds, checking the gauges with narrowed eyes. 

“Our leader is indeed a riveting sight when he fights,” Kitagawa mentions. “I liken him most to a cat--elegance and grace in equal measure.”

“He’s more cat-like than the actual cat,” Sakamoto sniggers. 

“I am not a cat!” Mona retorts without fail. 

“Don’t get started again you two,” Niijima scolds, adjusting the rearview mirror. “All that being said, Skull, sit in your seat properly unless you want to go flying out the windshield when I slam on the brakes.”

Skull groans and grumbles but does as he's told, the rest of the group following his example. 

Judging by Okumura’s initial statement and the stubbornness with which he’s seen Akira fight his regression on some of their outings before, it’s not too difficult to put the pieces together and come to the conclusion that Akira has never allowed himself to be small around them. Akira is naturally quiet, and that intensifies when he regresses, so it’s actually within the norm for the little one to not have breathed a word since Goro picked him up.

Which makes the flavor of Akira’s trust that one time in the aquarium take on a savory film, a delicacy only he was, and somehow still is, allowed to partake in. 

He has no qualms or doubts that he’ll be lording this fact over the rest of them in secret for quite some time. It’s a side of Akira that they’ve never seen before, that they’ll never realize is special. Goro is actually grateful that the spell made Akira’s body small in the first place, since the rest of them will assume that he’s acting childish because he’s been de-aged by magic and not by a modicum of choice. 

And if he gets to hold him without it looking strange, then it's just a side benefit.

The others speak in thankfully lower tones as Niijima drives, making their incessant chatter easier to ignore, and Goro distracts himself by absently running his fingers through Akira’s curls, staring out the window and not really seeing anything.

Akira is warm. Theoretically, he knows that humans give off heat. He just didn’t think that it would feel this nice.

Thankfully it doesn't take them all that long to reach a platform without running into any other Shadows, so Goro has the perfect excuse to not give those thoughts any more than a passing moment of time to breathe before they’re strangled. 

Niijima makes sure everyone is accounted for after they file out of the car, counting heads and ensuring they’re ready before instructing Sakura to use her phone to jump to the entrance of Mementos. 

They appear at the entrance without fanfare. Goro squeezes Akira tighter to his chest and fights the ache in his arms. Akira may be smaller, but Goro has swung his saber a frankly absurd amount in this excursion and Akira is, admittedly, heavy.

He stands a bit away from the rest, leaning against a turnstile, aware of their hesitant flickering gazes on the two of them. He pretends not to notice as they discuss whatever it is they feel the need to discuss. 

He instead spends this time visually checking Akira over to see if he’s improved in either mood or physical status. He’s no longer crying, which makes him let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Are you alright?” he prompts quietly, patting the little one’s back to get his attention.

He feels a miniscule nod against his shoulder, tired. It’s the exhaustion of the movement that Goro picks up on, that assures him Akira isn’t lying about his feelings for once.

“That’s good,” Goro murmurs softly into Akira's ear. "I’m glad.”

He would hold the baby in his arms for as long as time allowed him, but his arms call for rest, pathetic things that they are. He needs to improve his arm strength if this pitiful amount of time is how long he can hold Akira for.

“I have to set you down now," he regretfully tells Akira, telling himself to forget the warmth he feels, because soon it will go away and he probably won’t be getting it back--because surely this spell will wear off once they leave the Metaverse.

"No," Akira protests immediately, gripping the back of Goro's jacket tighter.

"It will only be for a moment," Goro hedges, kneeling down and making sure Akira's feet are stable on the floor, his muscles sighing in relief, but the little one doesn't let go of Goro’s jacket, gripping with renewed strength and burying his face further into Goro's neck.

Ah. He hadn't quite accounted for the idea that Akira would... like ...him so much.

He thinks.

"I'll hold your hand," he compromises. “Just until we get outside.”

Akira sniffles and draws back, his eyes still a little wet as he wipes them with the back of his itty bitty hand. “Won’t let go?”

Goro shakes his head and fights the way the corner of his lips want to lift up into a smile. “I won’t.”

Akira looks down at the ground, fidgeting slightly with a curl of his hair. Goro feels some sort of emotion realizing how far back that habit of his goes. “...p-promise?”

He feels his posture softening at Akira’s anxious tone. 

He recalls seeing some children do a type of ritual where they locked pinkies together and promised to meet up later. “Pinky promise,” he remembers them saying, and he holds out his pinky.

Akira blinks, his eyes locking onto Goro’s outstretched finger. He warily extends his own and links it with his. Goro is strangely aware of how little Akira’s finger is in comparison to his.

They shake.

“You promise,” Akira says, voice stronger now as he releases their pinkies, instead winding all ten of his fingers with Goro’s, small hands gripping onto his singular. “No take it back!”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Goro teases, squeezing Akira’s fingers, standing up, and pulling him close.

For some reason Akira looks upset at that, mouth pouting and eyebrows furrowing, pressing his side against Goro’s leg. “Gogo no allow to die.”

Goro’s humor fades at that. He swallows thickly. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. Yet, he doesn’t add. He squeezes Akira’s hands again. “Come along. The others are waiting for us.”

Akira purses his lips like he doesn’t believe him--smart, even at this age--but nods anyway, tottering along behind him as Goro leads the way back to the others, plastered to his side, holding Goro’s hand and arm close to his chest like a plush.

“Look at that,” Sakura says as they approach the group, hiding her snicker behind her hand. “A little crow for the big Crow.”

“Awww!” Takamaki coos, watching them with sparkles in her eyes. “That’s so cute! Ugh, I wish phones worked in the Metaverse, I would’ve taken so many pictures already!”

“An inspiring sight they make indeed,” Kitagawa mentions, sharp eyes scrutinizing, using his fingers to frame them. Goro grits his teeth, feeling Akira tuck himself behind his leg in much the same manner a shy child would do when meeting new people for the first time.

A general noise of high pitched crooning erupts from the female members of the group at Akira’s action.

“Hey, it’s okay little guy,” Sakamoto attempts to soothe, crouching down to Akira’s level and offering him a grin. “We’re not gonna let anyone hurt ya. We beat up monsters, we’re super strong! So it’s okay to come on out, yeah?”

Goro peeks down at Akira to see if he’ll listen, if he’s reassured by his words, but Akira doesn’t budge from his hiding place, further hiding himself behind Goro.

A wave of deep satisfaction bubbles up in his stomach, delighted by the fact that Akira trusts him and none of his other simpering friends to protect him right now, immediately picking him when surrounded by people who would do just about anything for him. He uses that to soothe his irritation at their antics. 

There’s a poof and a whoosh of wind as Morgana returns to his smaller form. “C’mon guys, no more messing around,” he urges, trying to usher them towards the entrance. “We may be at the top but that doesn’t mean that we’re safe.”

“Mona is right,” Niijima agrees, brushing her bangs out of the way only for them to fall back into place. “Besides, returning to the real world should dispel whatever magic our leader is under.”

“That’s true,” Okumura says placidly, staring right at Goro with frost lining her features. Her open hostility towards him only makes the satisfaction in his gut boil to greater heights. “Besides, the sooner we leave the sooner we can all take a rest. Today has been exhausting.”

“Indeed,” Niijima pipes up again, gesturing to Sakura. “Oracle, if you would do the honors?”

“You got it, Queen!” Sakura enthuses as she pulls out her phone with too much excitement for a simple exit, slamming the button on her phone with gusto. “One mundane exit for the amazing Phantom Thieves, coming right up!”

Goro holds Akira’s hands tightly, to the point that he might be hurting him as reality warps around them, faint echoes of laughter and warmth haunting. He closes his eyes to savor the last of it.

They appear right where they entered, near the train station. It’s particularly busy right now, the murmur of the crowd now loud and cacophonous, echoing and amplifying, a surge of bodies as people slog and lumber through the subway tunnels to get home from work and school. 

Goro pulls Akira unconsciously closer, and that’s when he realizes that the spell hasn’t worn off. Akira’s small hands are still wrapped around his gloved fingers and arm. 

Akira’s clothes have changed to what he was wearing before they entered Mementos today, the Shujin school uniform just slightly too big on him, sleeves bunching at his small wrists. Whatever magic the Metaverse runs on seems to have interfered and made it so that Akira’s clothes have shrunk down in size to loosely fit his smaller form.

Goro is in the middle of being stunned by the fact that the magic changing Akira’s form wasn’t dispelled upon their return to reality when suddenly one of Akira’s hands lets go, instead wrapping around his leg, pressing his face into the fabric of his slacks, slacks Goro irons and starches every morning until they’re stiff as cardboard.

A quiet, thin sound makes its way to his ears. Goro can feel his small hands trembling.

“Akira?” he asks, trying and failing to keep the concern out of his voice. His hand moves without his permission, trying to pat the top of his head reassuringly, but he catches himself before he can do it. It hangs awkwardly in the air. “What’s the matter?”

“Loud,” he hears faintly. “Too loud.”

Goro feels stupid. Regardless of his asinine assumption that Akira would be fine upon returning to reality, he should have taken into account the fact that traveling between the two worlds is incredibly disorienting no matter how many times you do it. It must be worse when you have a smaller body and undeveloped brain.

Goro can imagine how overwhelming it must be to have all that noise added to that already disorienting sensation. 

“Akira,” he says, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to startle, his voice measured, arms protesting what he’s about to say next. “May I pick you up?”

Akira doesn’t even look up--reaching up with both shivering hands.

Goro scoops him up, ignoring the complaints of his flesh. He tucks Akira’s head back into his favorite hiding place, Akira burying his face into it with no encouragement, linking his arms around Goro’s neck again. He feels Morgana hop up onto his free shoulder, pesky brat that he is, but Goro’s irritation is soon soothed by the rumbling purrs he emits in an obvious effort to distract Akira from all the noise.

“Oh, dear,” Okumura’s voice interrupts, and Goro looks up to see her terrified eyes on him, wringing her hands together, the rest of the Phantom Troupe looking at them with wide eyes and open mouths.

“He still hasn’t changed back?!” is the first thing out of Sakamoto’s loud mouth.

“Keep your voice down,” Goro just barely doesn’t snarl, his hand refusing to leave Akira’s head of curls. “Causing a scene would draw unwanted attention and that’s the last thing we need.”

Sakamoto looks like he wants to throttle Goro, which, good. The feeling is mutual, bumbling buffoon that he is, possessing no tact nor grace. 

“No need to get all huffy about it,” Sakamoto grumbles, clearly meant not to be heard by Goro, but Sakamoto’s crippling inability to use his inside voice prevents that from being the case. 

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” Kitagawa mentions mildly, seemingly the least affected by the unexpected situation. “But this gives me more opportunity to witness our leader in a smaller, more compact form. My hand aches for a paintbrush!”

“Not the time for your artistic fantasies Inari!” Sakura hisses, looking uncomfortable, inching closer to the center of the group. It reminds Goro that she’s a barely recovered shut-in and probably isn’t doing so well in such a large crowd either. None of the others seem to notice, however.

Niijima looks gobsmacked. “I-I thought the effect would wear off when we returned to the real world!”

“This has literally never happened before!” Takamaki whisper-shouts, looking frantic. 

“Mako-chan, what should we do?” Okumura asks, worry marring her irritatingly delicate features. 

“I--” Niijima begins, having to swallow before trying to continue. 

"Your need to process the situation is understandable," Goro interrupts, holding much harsher words behind his teeth. "But we are in an abnormal situation in which swift action is needed. So I propose a suggestion: we can travel to my apartment and further investigate the situation and contemplate solutions there. The space is large enough to accommodate all of us, and avoids the problem of having to explain the situation to anyone that might be about. All of this has the added effect of getting your leader to a safe place and out of the public eye."

He pauses to let that information sink in, taking satisfaction in the stunned looks on their faces. Apparently they hadn’t expected him to speak up. 

“W-well,” Takamaki stammers, brushing her hair behind her ear. “We usually decide these sorts of things with a vote...”

Goro wants to shake them until their insides liquefy. Isn’t it obvious that the more time they spend here both Akira and Sakura will only grow more and more upset? Imbeciles, the lot of them. They need to get to a safe place, now.

“Shall we put it to vote, then?" Goro answers smoothly instead, arms tightening around Akira’s back in an effort to keep him grounded and reassured while the rest of his incompetent teammates and friends have their pitiful little freak-outs.

Idiodic. 

Thankfully the rest of the Phantom Fools quickly raise their hands in favor of Goro’s suggestion, exchanging worried glances with each other as if he can’t see. 

He wastes no time once they reach that consensus, turning on his heel without announcement, leading the way to the appropriate train line, discreetly whispering soft noises and gentle words soothingly into Akira’s ear, hoping to head off a potential breakdown. 

And it seems that even though they’re useless most of the time, they all seem to be feeling extra protective of their leader when he’s in this vulnerable state and unconsciously form a protective barrier around the two of them and Sakura. It helps in that it prevents Goro from being recognized and having to explain why he’s carrying a small child in his arms. 

Goro is lucky enough to find a seat once the train doors open, forcing his way through a multitude of bodies and claiming an open sport for himself, giving his muscles a much needed break. He deposits him in his lap, still hugging him and having his little head tucked into the crook of his neck. 

The thought of sharing carrying duties with someone else did cross his mind, but he feels everything in him tense up and balk at the idea, possessively holding Akira a bit tighter. 

He doesn’t want to share. Which he recognizes is an ironically childish urge. 

He chuckles condescendingly at himself as the train rides along. The others share muted conversations, their eyes flickering back to him and Akira in his arms, wary of Goro’s intentions. 

As if Goro would ever be able to harm a literal child. He might be an assassin, he might be the most selfish bastard he knows, might be hell-bent on his revenge and past the point of no return, but he likes to think that if a child stood in his way…he would be able to end himself without having to make them a victim, prioritize their safety over his intensely selfish desires.

Sentimental thinking, he knows. Assassins can’t afford to be soft. 

Goro turns his head and buries his face into Akira’s hair, throat tightening. Akira reaches up and wraps his arms around Goro’s neck, shifting so that he’s pressed as close as he can be. 

Morgana still hasn’t uttered a word, heavily purring against the back of Goro’s neck, rubbing his head against Akira’s, his whiskers tickling his skin.

It’s irritatingly calming.

The rest of the ride passes just like that, Akira warm and real, Goro’s face pressed into soft curls smelling faintly of milk--an entire life in his arms, heartbeats against his chest, soft purring a blanket over them both and protecting them from the world.

Goro shakes himself as they approach his stop, all no-nonsense as he stands up and makes his way through the station, up and down streets and shortcuts, all the way to his apartment building, speed walking and not particularly caring if the rest can keep up. His highest priority is getting Akira to safety.

He hears their footsteps and heavy breathing as he inserts his key into the lock, ignoring their protests and stepping inside.

He’s sorely tempted to just slam the door in their faces and lock it and have the little one all to himself to spoil without revealing the fact that this is how Akira feels when he’s stressed--small and vulnerable and needing just one person to care. 

Goro doesn’t. They file in and complain about how he walked too fast and shouldn’t have left them behind, but he lets their voices filter in one ear and out the other, moving to the kitchen to check his fridge for something sweet to drink or eat. He thinks he still has some apple juice left over, an indulgent treat he doesn’t normally purchase, but is thankful to have now.

"The spell doesn't seem to be wearing off," Okumura says as soon as most of them are settled in different places and figured out that Goro isn't responding to their protests. It's strange to see them in his apartment, somehow making it feel like there’s less space than there actually is. "The deadline is approaching and I'm sure a few of us feel uncomfortable going into the Metaverse without Akira, since this involves him too…"

"Yeah, I agree," Sakamoto agrees, splaying himself across Goro's couch as he stretches. “Like, I don’t feel comfortable going without him."

Their words make Goro bristle. They're so useless, indecisive and dependent on a single person who works so hard that he feels the need to regress simply to cope with their idiocy and weakness. 

“What do we do then?” Takamaki asks, obviously worried. “We can’t take him as he is into the Palace, he’s just a kid.”

“We still have plenty of time,” Goro interjects politely, biting back his anger. He rifles through his cabinet for a glass to fill with the last dregs of apple juice he has, shifting Akira so he’s sitting securely on his hip, little legs and arms wrapping around his stomach firmly. “I think that simply waiting for the spell to wear off and playing the situation by ear is our best course of action at the moment. Additionally, I feel as if we could all use this time to rest and replenish ourselves. We have been visiting the Metaverse rather frequently as of late.”

“Sketchi has got a point there,” Sakura defends, to his surprise--she hasn’t exactly been fond of him in the past, taking every opportunity to ‘dunk' on him, as she puts it. She seems to be doing better now that they’re in an enclosed space with people she knows, based on her increased activity and lighter demeanor. “Besides, we got this Palace in the bag, no problem. We can afford a few days slacking off.”

“I am not in opposition to that suggestion,” Kitagawa says, looking up at Goro’s high ceilings and framing the wooden support beams. “What do you think, Makoto?”

She looks over from where she’d been scrutinizing his bookshelf. “I suppose it’s alright to take a break for now,” she agrees cautiously. “But I’m not sure if I feel comfortable just waiting for the situation to resolve itself.”

“What do you propose, then?” Goro asks as he pours about half a glass full of store bought apple juice, handing it to Akira and making sure he has both hands secure around the cup before he turns around to address them. “It doesn’t seem like anything traditional has worked thus far.”

A collective silence ripples through the apartment, which is about what he expected. As soon as things don’t go according to plan or process, the Phantom Thieves fall to pieces without a leader to make the decisions for them.

Akira tugs on Goro’s sleeve, and he looks down to see that Akira has finished his drink already, glass empty except for the remnants of leftover juice. He must have been thirsty, he concludes, taking the glass back from him, moving to set it in the sink to clean later.

Niijima looks like she’s about to open her mouth and most likely suggest something unintelligent when--

“I want Fifi,” Akira abruptly and loudly declares, nearly startling Goro into dropping the empty glass as he puts it in the sink.

Another silence ripples through the apartment, but this one is broken much faster than the one Goro caused.

"Who's Fifi?" Takamaki loudly whispers to Sakamoto. Goro resists the urge to roll his eyes, adjusting Akira on his hip. They really have no idea how to keep quiet. It's a miracle no one else has figured out they're the Phantom Thieves.

"No idea," Sakamoto loudly whispers back. "Maybe a girlfriend?"

Goro grimaces, wanting to pinch his nose in exasperation. Do they really have no brain cells left to spare for a single complicated thought?

"Want Fifi," Akira repeats, a little louder this time, gripping Goro's blazer a little tighter, his voice pitching up into a whine near the end.

Uh oh. Goro recognizes that tone.

"Shh, shh," he attempts to soothe, stroking his curls with a gloved hand. "I'll go get her for you."

"No!" Akira immediately yells, startling everyone in the apartment with the vehemence he says the word.  "No, Gogo stay!"

"O-okay," Goro hastily reassures, holding Akira closer. "I'll stay."

“He calls you Gogo?” Takamaki squeals quietly, a feat in and of itself, looking inexplicably excited by this fact. “That’s so cute!”

Goro does not acknowledge her, choosing to focus on Akira right now--he still looks upset, face contorted into a mighty pout, sniffling. “Want Fifi,” he repeats.

Goro is at a loss on how to fix the situation, which doesn’t normally happen. He’s good at thinking his way out of seemingly dead end cases. It’s why he’s working with the police in the first place.

So think, he irritably orders himself. And he does, and he--oh. He thinks he might have something that would calm Akira down. 

He still has that rubber duck he bought and never sent. It’s been sitting on his sink for a while now. He hasn’t had the time nor the courage to send it quite just yet. It works out perfectly in this situation, however.

"Kitagawa-kun," he decides, figuring that he's the least judgmental of all of them and wouldn't find it strange that Goro has a rubber duck just sitting on his sink. "Would you mind fetching the duck I have in the bathroom for me?"

Sure enough, the only response that gets out of the artist is a slow blink and a nod, making his way through the small apartment and to the bathroom.

Goro refuses to look at the others, focusing on whispering assurances and shushes into Akira's small ear as he makes general noises of unhappiness and struggles in his arms.

“Is this it?” Kitagawa says as he returns, rather swiftly, holding the small rubber duck with it’s little straw hat in his hand.

Goro takes it. “Yes, thank you,” he says, and then turns his attention to Akira, presenting the small duck to him. “Look, Akira. I have a new friend for you.”

Akira’s eyes latch onto the duck, struggling a little less. A sort of flicker of recognition goes through his eyes. 

Goro offers him a small smile, even if he has to reveal a real smile in front of the others, even if it’s small. “Remember this little guy?”

Akira nods, reaching for the toy with one hand, looking up to Goro as if for permission to take it. Goro nods and deposits the rubber duck into Akira’s hand gently, hoisting Akira further up onto his hip to better support him.

Akira doesn’t seem to mind, eyes sparkling as he gently touches each and every distinguishing feature of the duck with itty bitty fingers.

“You’re…surprisingly good with kids,” Niijima remarks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, you handled that like it was nothing!” Takamaki praises. “It would have been bad if we had a crying Akira on our hands!”

“It wasn’t that impressive,” Sakamoto mumbles, clearly pouting. 

Goro smiles placatingly at them, once again hoisting Akira higher on his hip. His arms are growing dangerously exhausted--he’s unable to hide the shaking of his arms at this point.

“Thank you, but it was nothing,” he acknowledges. “Going back to a course of action, however. Might I suggest that we spend this time engaging in the activities Akira enjoys?”

“Such as?” Okumura responds, looking genuinely curious.

“You could simply ask Akira,” Goro politely answers, gesturing to the child still fascinated with the rubber duck on his hip. “It’s not as if he can’t hear you. He’s simply younger, that’s all.”

“Me first!” Takamaki enthuses, jolting Akira into looking up at the group gathered in his living room. “What do you want to do, Akira?”

Akira’s eyes dart nervously between her and everyone else in the room. He holds his duck closer, tucking his head close to Goro’s shoulder, answering with a tiny, “Dunno.”

“That’s okay!” she assures, lowering her voice, proving herself to be just a tad more observant than Goro gave her credit for. “Would it help if we suggested some things and you tell us if that sounds like something you’d like to do?”

Akira looks up at Goro. His heart stutters that Akira looks to him for reassurance and guidance. 

He tilts his head towards Takamaki and smiles one of his real smiles to indicate that it’s okay.

Akira brightens up visibly--at least to Goro he does--and nods at the others.

“Awesome!” Takamaki says excitedly, clapping her hands together. “I have some movies at my place that I can bring here, like Wall-E, Detective Pikachu, and Ponyo!”

Akira’s eyes sparkle at the suggestions, especially at that last one. Perhaps it’s his favorite to watch when he’s regressed?

“That’s a wonderful idea, Lady Ann!” Morgana says reverently from where he’s still perched on Goro’s shoulders, having laid down around his neck like a scarf at some point.

“It’s nothing,” Takamaki deflects, twirling a curl of her hair and looking pleased by the praise. “It’s just something I liked doing when I was a kid.”

“Oh, oh, I got an idea!” Sakamoto declares, apparently having abandoned his petty pouting, raising his hand as if they’re in a classroom and the teacher has to call on him in order to say his piece, but he sort of just skips that part and says it anyways. “I could run to my place and bring my console here, and we could play some video games! I know I liked doing that when I was little.”

“Hmm,” Kitagawa mumbles, stroking his chin in deep thought. “So you both are taking inspiration from your earlier years. Very well, I shall do the same!"

Kitagawa closes his eyes, a small smile curling on his lips. "In my youth I would use my fingers as the tool to transfer paint to a canvas, and it was an enjoyable experience for my young mind.”

“Finger painting, basically,” Sakura simplifies. “Not a bad idea for once, Inari.”

Kitagawa looks as if he doesn’t know whether or not to be offended or pleased by that statement.

“I have an idea as well,” Niijima interrupts, looking a little timid. “Um, me and my sister made a blanket fort once. It’s a fond memory that’s still really clear, so I was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to suggest it?” 

“Oh, I was thinking the same thing, Mako-chan!” Okumura bubbles. “We could go out and buy some new blankets and pillows just for this, as I have no shortage of funds. Besides, I’ve been wanting to buy a gift for Akira for some time now, and this is the perfect excuse to finally do so. Would you like to accompany me? I could use your eye for detail!”

“You flatter me,” Niijima attempts to diminish, but the way her lips twitch up in the corner ruin the illusion of humility. “But if you think I can help, I’d be glad to accompany you.”

“Well, this all depends on if he wants it in the first place,” Goro reminds them, feeling only a smidge guilty at curtailing their excitement. He looks back down at Akira, who now has his finger in his mouth but still has that sparkle in his eyes. “What do you think, Akira?”

“Want all them,” Akira mumbles around his finger, quiet enough that Goro is really the only person who can hear him. “Pease.”

“What did he say?” Niijima asks, clearly anxious if the way she shifts on her feet is any indication.

“He says he wants all of them,” Goro translates, quickly moving to the living room and sitting down on the couch, unable to keep standing and holding the little one at the same time.

Goro doesn’t really feel one way or the other about Akira wanting to do what they suggested. He’s aware that he’s petty about how they came up with legitimately good suggestions, but seeing as it will make Akira undoubtedly happy to do those things, he’s able to mitigate his jealousy somewhat.

“Awesome!” Sakamoto declares, doing a victory fist-pump. “Come on, everyone, let’s go!”

And so it ends up that most of the Thieves leave Goro’s apartment to gather their respective supplies. 

“Why don’t you play with Morgana?” Goro suggests as he pulls Morgana off of his neck and sets him down on the ground, Akira following shortly after. “I need to rest my arms if I am to hold you for longer.”

Akira blinks up at him, and smiles, melting Goro’s heart in the process. “O’ay!” he says, and takes off.

So Goro rests his arms as he watches Akira play around with Morgana, chasing him around the apartment with thundering feet and joyful screeches, occasionally followed by a very cat-like yowl and a giggle of victory. 

Sakura occupies a chair and types away on her phone and laptop, most likely keeping everyone updated. She sneaks glances at him when she thinks he isn’t looking.

It doesn’t take as long as Goro would prefer for them to show up with their supplies.

Sakamoto returns with two bags--one full of gaming equipment Goro has never had the opportunity to see before, and another full of smaller sleeping clothes. 

“I figured he wouldn’t want to sleep in his uniform,” Sakamoto explains upon prompting, surprising Goro with his insight. “So I dug around for some of my older clothes I never got around to donating and brought them over.”

“Thank you, Sakamoto-kun,” Goro thanks him, almost genuinely, taking the bag from him to inspect the contents, begrudgingly satisfied with the state and smell of the clothing. 

“No problem,” Sakamoto brushes off with a thumbs-up. “I’ll get Futaba to help me set up the console while you go get him to change, yeah?”

Goro blinks. “Sure,” he agrees, moving to his room, that being the place Akira fled to when Goro opened the door. 

Akira is holding Morgana to his chest like a plushie, the cat looking annoyed and grumpy as his feet dangle and brush the floor boards, his front legs sticking out comically.

“Free me,” he begs.

Goro allows himself a singular chuckle at the cat’s unfortunate fate.

“That’s not comfortable for the cat, Akira,” Goro tells him, his smile widening at Morgana’s indignant yowl at being referred to as so. “Here. Change into these, they’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”

Akira blinks up at him and sets Morgana gently down on his feet, who then bolts as soon as he’s free. “Fo’ me?”

Goro hands him the bag and gestures to his bathroom. “For you. You can get changed in there.”

“O’ay!” Akira agrees easily, padding into the bathroom on tiny feet.

As Goro waits outside the door to the bathroom for Akira to finish changing, he watches and listens to Futaba and Sakamoto bickering while they plug in a couple of wires to the television and the wall, booting up the console and ‘Mario Kart’ game within a surprisingly short time-frame. 

Akira emerges from the bathroom wearing a bright red shirt with a graphic on the front, the pajama bottoms being a little too long and brushing the floor. 

“All good?” Goro asks him before he can run off, kneeling down to brush imaginary dust off of Akira’s shoulders. 

Akira looks up at him, smiles big and bright, and says, “Yup! Can go play now?”

Goro is pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but he smiles amicably. “You may.”

And as soon as Akira enters the living room, both Sakura and Sakamoto engage Akira in the game easily.

Goro was planning on sticking to the sidelines and watching, but somehow he ends up with a controller in his hands, trying his hardest to win but more often than not finding himself claiming last place. 

Strangely, he finds that for once he doesn’t really care about winning. The blind rage that usually grips him is missing, scathing heat nowhere to be found. His hands don't ache to clamber and harm so that only he stands on the top.

Because when he sees Akira’s happy little smile every time he gets first place he just can’t feel bad about losing. Not if he’s that happy.

Takamaki shows up with candy and a frankly absurd selection of movies. As soon as she sets it all down across Goro’s coffee table she gets roped into playing the racing game as well. Shouting and general noise fills the apartment, but Akira doesn’t seem to mind it so much now, and, surprisingly, neither does Goro. 

He wasn’t planning on letting Akira have any of that candy, but evidently he’s pathetically weak to his puppy dog eyes, and ends up caving and letting him have two whole chocolate bars. 

And then Kitagawa shows up with his art supplies, dumping them all over Goro’s kitchen table, and everyone moves into the kitchen as Yusuke pulls out a couple of canvases and an atrocious amount of acrylic paint tubes. 

Goro’s printer paper gets sacrificed once it becomes clear that there aren’t enough canvases for everyone to participate.

The paint inevitably gets everywhere. Goro really hopes for Kitagawa’s continued safety that it can be washed out of all of the surfaces it afflicts. 

The only one who isn’t a mess of assorted colors by the time Okumura and Niijima show up with their own blanket fort supplies is Goro, through no lack of trying on everyone’s part, including Akira’s. But he was truly content to just watch Akira get colored chemicals all over his fingers and face, making an indiscernible piece of art on one of the few canvases.

Akira smiles a toothy, boyish grin as he hands his mess of a canvas to Goro, and Goro just sort of stares at it, wanting to press it close to his chest for some reason, his heart making concerning palpitations in his chest.

After everyone gets a thorough washing and they’ve helped Goro clean up the mess (and Kitagawa lives another day, as the paint did indeed wash out), they all migrate back to the living room, taking the chairs with them to help set up the blanket fort.

They set up the chairs in whatever fancy architecture they think is cool, throwing blankets over the top and pillows inside.

The end result is cozy and small, enough to fit roughly two people on the inside, and Akira dives into the open front of the cave-like structure. He settles in before asking Goro to join him on the assortment of pillows decorating the inside. And he doesn’t think it’s fair of anyone to judge him for being unable to resist when Akira used his nickname to call him in.

And no one protests Akira’s choice, either.

Once Goro settles in, his exhaustion hits him like one of the Reaper's bullets, and he finds himself having difficulty fighting sleep for the first time in months. 

But he fights it nonetheless, watching as Takamaki picks a movie and puts it on. Wall-E, he thinks. He’s never seen it before, so he doesn’t really know if he's right or not.

Akira snuggles close to Goro’s side, dipping underneath his defenses and using Goro’s bicep as a pillow for his tiny head, pressed snugly against his side.

Akira falls asleep within five minutes of the movie starting.

“He’s asleep,” he informs the others, keeping his voice to a measured whisper. 

“Oh,” one of them says. He can’t parse who it is from inside the blanket fort. “Who’s gonna take him home?”

“He can stay here for tonight,” Goro offers quickly, before anyone else can make a suggestion, selfish in wanting to finally have the baby all to himself. “He’s had a rough and exhausting day. I’m sure no one wants to be the one to wake him up and drag him through the subways again.”

“Yeah, but…still,” he thinks Sakamoto says. 

“Morgana can stay as well if you feel we need a supervisor,” Goro continues rationally, keeping all semblance of emotion out of his voice. “I’m aware that your trust in me is low, and that it is warranted. But I promise to you that I can and will keep him safe.”

His voice hitches at the end, some of the warmth he holds for Akira bleeding through. So much for keeping emotion out of his voice. He braces himself for impact, waiting for the moment they exploit his slip-up, his weakness. 

But it doesn’t happen, fools that they are. Instead he just hears varied murmurs of agreement, one of them turning off the television, screen going black and taking with it much of Goro’s vigilance and wakefulness--exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, Akira’s warm weight plastered to his side, both threatening to pull him under.

“Keep us updated,” Sakura says as she peeks around the edge of a blanket. “We’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll text you the time.”

Goro simply nods. 

He thinks she might have smiled at him. It’s hard to tell in the dark. “We’ll lock the door for you. Sleep well, A-akechi," she stutters.

It’s only when he hears all of them shuffle out and lock the door does he realize that’s the first time she called him by his name. 

A heavy, painful emotion swirls in his heart as sleep drapes across his eyes and takes him gently down.

The warmth and brightness of the sun filtering in through the window is what wakes Akira up.

He blinks away the cobwebs of sleep, allowing himself a yawn, and that’s when he realizes he’s staring directly at Goro Akechi’s sleeping face, and then he remembers.

Oh, no. 

Everyone saw him. Everyone saw him be little and pathetic and needy. They saw him.

He wants to hide, wants to cringe away, wants to steal their memories right from their minds and burn them into ash and pretend like they never saw him regress.

He can’t breathe.

And of course this is the exact moment that Akechi chooses to wake up.

His crimson eyes are hazy with sleep, making them soft, but sharpening when he sees whatever is on Akira’s face right now.

“You’re okay, Kurusu,” he assures, Akira’s gut lurching painfully at the use of his last name. “They don’t know.”

Damn him, reading his mind as if it’s clear on his face. It probably is, it always is when he’s small. He needs to grow up fast, he needs to not be little right now.

“Shh,” Goro soothes, tucking Akira’s head into the crook of his neck, and Akira’s baby brain latches onto the familiar action, feeling soothed by it, safety in being hidden. “It’s okay, Akira. They thought it was just the magic that made you small. They don’t know.”

Akira takes a deep breath, Goro’s familiar scent of leather and lemongrass filling his nostrils and easing the tension in his shoulders. Tentatively, he brings his arms up to wrap around Goro’s neck, remembering how secure it felt to hold onto Goro like that.

“I’ve got you,” Goro whispers into the top of his head. “I’ve got you.”

Akira believes him. He makes it so easy to do that. 

Dangerous. Akira knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it--Goro is holding him like he’s some sort of precious treasure, whispering soft nonsense into his hair as he rubs his back in measured strokes. Like he matters to him. 

Akira melts like butter left in the sun.

After moments of Goro just…holding him, pressing him close, Akira’s breathing evens out and his heart slows down to beat at a normal pace.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, voice still a little strained and high. He coughs, trying to force it lower, trying to withdraw, but Goro doesn’t let him go--a good thing, since Akira is pretty sure the warmth and closeness is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

But Akira doesn't--it’s not safe, he’s not safe. He has to pull away, protect himself somehow, even though he knows Goro hasn’t used this against him before. 

Akira doesn’t think he can do it, not when the comfort is so close, not when the fuzziness is still pressing insistently in his head, not when he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance to be accepted.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be big if you don’t want to be,” Goro assures, reading his mind again, reaching up and running his fingers through Akira’s hair, something he apparently has no qualms about doing now that he’s calmed down.

Goro probably has no idea how much the words and the action mean to him. 

“But,” Akira starts, but doesn’t know how to finish.

“Shh,” Goro insists, and Akira’s protests fade away.

Another quiet length of time passes, hanging in warmth before Akira can work up to speaking again. 

“Was I a bother…?” he asks. He knows he was, he made Goro carry him around for so long, demanded so many things from his friends, forced them to leave the Metaverse when they were so close to being done, indulged him in his babyish wants and needs when he’s not even a baby. 

“You were such a needy child. Still are," Goro says, and Akira hears the teasing tone, but he doesn’t comprehend it, goes quiet and stiff. Akira crossed a line, and now Goro’s grown tired of taking care of him. 

Selfish, so selfish, Akira. You’re so stupid. Of course he’s not going to want to take care of you again. You’re too much of a burden, you asked for too much, you should have just kept your fool mouth shut, and now he's going to go away and take the warmth with him. So stupid, so stupid, so stupid, you should have just been happy with what you had Akira--

But Goro interrupts his train of thought. "I didn't mind taking care of you, however. In fact, it was quite pleasant. Something I would enjoy doing in the future."

Akira relaxes an infinitesimal amount, the voice in his head going quiet. "Really...?"

Goro hums and adjusts the blankets around them. "I have no reason to lie about this."

Akira curls into him more, trying to hide his anxiousness. "What...what about right now?"

There’s a silence as Goro seems to think about it. 

“Hmm,” he starts, hand moving down to tickle the hairs at the back of Akira’s neck, successfully getting him to let out a small giggle and look up. Goro has this sort of…softness to his eyes that Akira thinks he’s seen before, but can’t remember where from. “I don't know...do you think you'd be amenable to cookies and a movie?"

Akira’s breath hitches in his throat. He never thought that this part of him would be so easily and purely accepted. "...what kind of cookies?" he asks tentatively.

“Whatever kind you want,” Goro responds easily. 

“I want snickerdoodles,” he says before he can stop himself, the fuzziness less in strength and insistence, but still very much present. “And I wanna watch Ponyo.”

Goro chuckles softly again. "Then that's what we'll do, little one. We’re lucky enough that Takamaki left her absurd collection of DVDs behind."

Akira’s heart clenches and he swallows thickly. “Even though I’m not…physically small anymore?”

Goro scoffs. “Your size hardly matters to me.”

“But--” Akira begins to protest again, but Goro shushes him.

“Akira,” he says chidingly, and Akira finds himself feeling slightly scolded. “I offered, didn’t I?”

Akira nods hesitantly, hands trembling in anxiety, confused as to why Goro is being so…so weird. Why would anyone want to deal with a baby?

But Goro looks at him like he would be delighted to spend more time with his little self. “Then it’s okay,” he assures, and the way he says it reminds him of when he said the exact same thing in the aquarium. “Cross my heart.”

And Akira notices he left off the ‘hope to die’. And Akira believes him. Again.

Dealing with the rest of his friends and apologizing to them will be for later. Right now he’s allowed to be small. 

It’s okay. 

So he lets the fuzzy cotton take over peacefully. “O’ay,” he whispers, and buries his face back into Gogo’s chest to hide the grin taking over his face.