goro akechi is a dead man.
that is a truth that everyone in the phantom thieves had simply - accepted. goro akechi is dead. goro akechi was too far gone to save. goro akechi, in his last moments, had saved them all.
but akira could not let him go. akira could feel the anger that akechi had felt, the anguish that his plan crafted ever since he was in middle school had failed, the dual meaning of akechi's hurt i'm done, i'm so done, i'm done with everything. akechi's hidden you've gotta get out of here. you've gotten out of here and i haven't.
what was 'here?'
akechi is a puzzle that akira wanted to solve, but he didn't have all the pieces. akira wanted akechi to come back just to yell in his face and hold him by the shoulders and drag him to therapy. akechi had reminded akira so much of how he was a year ago and if akira was given the same chance that akechi had akira was sure that he would have turned out the same way, no question. instead, akechi was gone, and not even six feet under, and behind him, he leaves behind a neat pile of things that akira does not know what to do with.
like an itemized list.
akira smiled slightly in his bed, lying on his left side, favoring his right - it had never been better ever since akechi managed to hit him once there with his stupid light-saber. there was nothing left to see, but there was always a phantom pain every once in a while whenever he strains it or puts too much pressure on it.
a mark from akechi. a mark that might last forever. a memoir, almost. something that might have been a don't forget me as if akechi knew that the world would go on without him. like akechi didn't leave a mark behind at all. like his name of second coming of the detective prince meant nothing.
morgana had went out for the night - "i'm exploring, who knows what dangers are here," morgana had said before he hopped out of the window and well, there he goes - so akira didn't really have much to do other than think of this dumb list in his head.
the list was very akechi-like, like he did leave an itemized list. he could almost imagine it. akechi slouched - no, he would be sitting up straight, wouldn't he, all prim and proper like he is - at a desk, penning down his last will dramatically even though it would never be read. not so much a will as a testament.
a testament to what?
akira didn't know.
in his mind, akechi begins to write. things that i, goro akechi, leave behind, it'd begin. akira didn't know what a final will would look like, and he doesn't want to know. it'd be something more formal, akira guesses, but he doesn't want to know, so that line should be good enough.
and akira's slight smile fades when he thinks of how to phrase the list. how do you write out a concept? a concept that the dead man couldn't even figure out himself in his last moments? akira swallows, and tries. it was almost foreign, but something familiar.
point one:
a memory, but no body.
don't get akira wrong. akira had a lot of dull memories of akechi.
akechi seemed to have a knack for turning up at leblanc at the most opportune times to 'enjoy the coffee', always there whenever he was returning straight home from school, never any other days. he remembered that akechi had given him a wry smile whenever he had caught akira walking in.
he remembered akechi saying looks like i've overstayed my welcome with an almost unreadable expression. and akira wouldn't have read it if he hadn't had worn that same expression before.
it was an expression of not knowing if you were still allowed to be around. an expression of not knowing if you belonged. an expression of always standing at the side of the friend group, arms crossed as in a lame imitation of a defense. an expression of being sure that whoever you're hanging out with hates your guts secretly deep down.
ryuji was the one that shook him out of that expression. you're always allowed around us, akira, ryuji had said, a carefree smile on his lips. akira swallowed once more, realizing that akechi probably never had a friend like that in his life.
but he also remembered akechi tap-tap-tapping his pen on the counter, squinting down at crosswords, his paperwork shoved to the side to make space for that one sheet of paper. he remembered the focus on akechi's face whenever that had happened, and the resulting small victorious smile whenever akechi had managed to figure out the answer without resigning to the dictionary.
he remembered coming home once in a good mood, also to akechi in a good mood. he had said honey, i'm home.
akechi had made a sound that was a cross between a stifled laugh and an audible snort, before he had stood up, hands firmly on his hips for a bit of extra flair, his eyebrow quirked up as he forces words past his grinning mouth - why are you so late today? don't you ever think of the children? how dare you leave me alone to look after them?
who's the children? akira remembered asking, hiding the world's smallest smile. akechi looked lost after that question for a split second, before his gaze flickered to his right and he pointed straight at sojiro, brewing a cup of coffee. sojiro immediately held up his hands in mock-surrender.
don't bring me into your old married couple quarrels, sojiro had said. akira responded by gasping dramatically, holding a hand over his heart.
our child, akira had said. you've converted him. are you going to take custody of him? are you going to make sure i only see him on weekends? akechi, how could you?
knock it off, sojiro had insisted, deciding that he might as well be in on the performance since they're not letting him go. akechi laughed, louder this time, a more carefree, unrestrained sound. seriously, you're disturbing my regulars. you wanna quarrel, take it outside or something.
but boss, it's free labor, akira had said the exact same time that akechi apologized for the trouble, bowing down. akira, however, didn't let it go. we're being entertainment. gotta spice things up a bit around here if you want people to start remembering the place.
or, sojiro snarked, maybe you're pissing my regulars off enough by vice of being noisy that they just aren't coming. there was a tone in his voice that made it obvious that he wasn't being all that serious. if anything, he probably enjoyed the fact that akechi was, at least, getting along well with akira.
at face-value, anyway.
akechi had immediately swept out of the door, apologizing once more, leaving akira behind.
akira shook his head and went back to akechi's-not-really-akechi's-itemized-list-of-things-he-left-behind, ignoring the fact that akira could not find a body. despite it being written down on the list. akira tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at his bones at the but no body.
because there was no body.
akira had spent several days searching up and down for any traces of akechi's body. in juvenile hall, akira had been approached by a persona user named naoto. in juvenile hall, akira had the basis of the "tv world" explained to him, similar to something like the metaverse. where a physical form would eventually be spat back out of the tv world, and if this "palace" of akira's collapses, then the bodies should be spat out too because it's just cognition and it isn't real.
so when akira was let back out of juvenile hall, akira had went straight back to searching. the other phantom thieves thought he was insane.
akira realizes the irony of the first coming of the detective prince helping him in some way to search for the second coming of the detective prince. even if he was a fake in the end. even if the achievement was like shining gold only to turn out to be pyrite.
akira had camped. akira had searched.
akira had found nothing.
no body, only a distant memory of akechi and his slight smile, hidden by a cup of coffee brought up to his lips.
akira shook the memory off and went back to the list, a lump beginning to form in his throat.
point two:
a house, but no home
after leaving juvenile hall and searching for a week, akira had went to see shido.
and shido had given him the address that akechi was living at while he was working under him.
akira wasn't quite sure why he went to the address, at first. maybe he wanted to know what akechi was like at home with no one around to have a facade with. maybe he wanted to know how akechi spent his day-to-days.
or maybe he wanted something of substance that proved akechi existed. that he wasn't just erased from everyone's minds. something more concrete than just pieces of paper with akechi's name on it. everyone had stopped talking about akechi, like his name was taboo to say, and it almost seemed doubtful that he existed in the first place.
the only remainder that akira had was the phansite, and if he scrolled way down to when the phantom thieves' popularity started to plummet, he could still see the A-KE-CHI A-KE-CHI written down in white text.
the phansite was going down soon.
without the metaverse, there wasn't anything that the phantom thieves could do, and they had admitted it to mishima. mishima didn't know what to do with it. akira had told him that whatever happens, he should at least write requests are no longer accepted at the top of the site. mishima had done that, at least.
in a way, shido giving out akechi's address to akira might have been somewhat of a godsend to akira.
he had brought makoto along, thinking that makoto would like to scope out the place. that maybe makoto, with her sharp eyes, wouldn't miss a single thing that akira might have. and yusuke had come along too when he overheard the invitation, thinking that maybe it would be some sort of inspiration. maybe.
akira didn't claim to know what was running through the eccentric artist's head most of the time.
when they entered, akira didn't know how to describe the house.
it had necessities. it was furnished. it wasn't superbly clean, judging by the mess of paperwork on the table. there was a layer of dust on everything that had built up over the months, like an abandoned house. guts or no guts, it felt like trespassing.
it's empty, yusuke had observed.
too empty, makoto had muttered to herself.
they stepped in and akira looked around. there were a few paintings on the wall that he didn't recognize, but when akira asked yusuke about them yusuke had simply snorted and said something like those are mass-produced copies of an artwork that was made only for money, cheap artwork that are maybe fifty thousand yen at most. so they're paintings akechi randomly picked up just to furnish the room, akira thought to himself. cheap paintings that didn't even match each other in color or style or theme, just things bought on a whim and placed in empty slots on the wall.
while akira looked at the paintings, makoto opened akechi's closet. just checking to see if he has any skeletons in there, she had said, half as a joke, her tone mirthless. akira looked in.
a neat row of the same jacket in maybe three different colors at most. that was all that he could see - the exact same jacket that akechi wore every day that akira saw him. this is all he wears? akira wondered to himself. makoto nods, confused as she pulls out one of the jackets.
it's not even that nice-looking, she had said, making a face.
it looked nice on him at least? akira had offered in response. she sighs and returns the jacket.
akira couldn't even remember how akechi had looked in that jacket. he could only remember the outfit he wore - with loki as his persona. the dazzle pattern. the look of anger on his face - akira shook his head.
yusuke looked around with his fingers held up to form an imaginary canvas.
what are you trying to capture? akira had asked.
the absence of a human soul, yusuke had responded. a human soul that has given up on everything else. there's no time to make a mess. there's no time to think of colors. there's no time to think of different outfits. there's only time to work hard for an end result. yusuke gestured at the stack of paperwork on the table with one hand as if that would explain everything before that hand returned back to border his imaginary canvas.
akira picked out one of the jackets from the closet and hit it a few times to get the thin layer of dust off. it was way too large for him, akira knew, but he took out the hanger and folded it neatly, tucking it under his arm. i hope he doesn't mind if i take this, he had said, meaning for it as a joke.
yusuke looked at him, one eyebrow raised, but he didn't say anything.
let's go, makoto had said. there's nothing to see here.
and now, akira's gaze slipped to the jacket once more, still neatly folded, on his room table. he hadn't known where to place it, and it seemed almost wrong to throw it into his own closet. the gray, slightly green jacket was too formal for anything else that he had in there, not like the jacket was something that he would wear in the first place.
but the jacket was concrete evidence that at some point, goro akechi was alive.
akira stretched out a hand to touch it, before he recoiled and buried his face in his hands. in his head, akechi continued to write his list, ignoring everything else that happened.
point three:, cognitive akechi wrote -
understanding, but no personality.
akira frowned at that.
it wasn't like it wasn't true.
akira had understood akechi's life choices that led to his final moments. being hated as a child, being thrown from home to home, being told he was useless and a bother even as he clawed his way up to the top with only loki at his side just to get close to his father for revenge. a sorry attempt at it, because shido managed to manipulate his words to make akechi feel wanted. made akechi blinded by what he presumed was love that he never ever had.
but akira also knew that because of the plan, none of the phantom thieves could spend that much time with akechi, just in case they accidentally let something slip. even before the plan, akira might have thought that akechi was something of a bother. always searching him out at the station platform, really? akechi didn't need to take the train. akechi lived very close to the station and his school. akechi was hunting him out specifically to spend time with him, and it kind of creeped akira out.
so he had ignored akechi the best he could, and when akechi approached him he had given clipped answers every time, shorter than he usually gave to the others, excusing himself out of guilt in his head by clarifying that it was just early in the morning and he was irritable for having to be awake so early.
it would have been believable if morgana hadn't sent him straight to bed on time every day no matter what akira felt he had to do that day.
but he had given akechi clipped answers. clipped answers that meant go away. clipped answers that meant stop seeking me out. clipped answers that meant you're such a creep. clipped answers that meant he never really got to know who 'goro akechi' was.
now what did he know?
he knew goro akechi was hurting ever since he was a child. he knew goro akechi was angry and he wanted revenge towards the world. he knew goro akechi must have, in a way, hated him for managing to find companionship with the phantom thieves, even though it was birthed out of circumstance more than anything else. he knew goro akechi might have liked putting aside his work at leblanc for crossword puzzles, and he maybe had a liking for theatrics; he knew akechi was perhaps stuck in a mindset of nothing but childishness, helped by his garb with robin hood.
akira ground his teeth.
must have. might have. maybe. perhaps.
nothing concrete.
akira didn't even know if he put aside his work for crossword puzzles because he wanted to. akira didn't know if akechi's sense of theatrics was him trying to get along with akira better or if it was something he genuinely did sometimes. akira didn't know if akechi's mindset of childishness was a mask to hide away his hate.
akira kurusu knew nothing at all of goro akechi.
with this realization, there was nothing but regret. if he had spent more time with akechi, maybe things would have been different. maybe akechi would have been swayed. maybe he would know akechi better than that one shitty one-liner about fucking pancakes.
what-ifs and regrets. this is what his life has come to.
akira breathes out, a shaky breath. it's hard to breathe, tears stinging at his eyes.
it's almost like he can feel the indelible hands of goro akechi curling around his throat. choking him. suffocating him.
somehow, he felt like it was all his fault.
point four:
akira kurusu.