Three knocks on his door signified something more.
Pulling the knob, cold hands met cold metal, eyes to eyes with a cold heart, the devil in hiding.
Half a decade had passed since then, he had grown since then, healed since then, found pride, worth, and confidence within himself, found his nightmares no longer plagued with the eyes of the man standing at his door. Five years have passed, he had something to come home to, someone to come home to…
And it wasn't him, it wasn't this man standing in front of him now, so why was he here?
Five years missing, five years dead, or assumedly dead, five years ago the wall fell between them and shattered everything they could've been, should've been, never was, and never will be. Five years ago the two gunshots rang out and he was met with the cruel reality that he couldn't save everyone. Especially this cruel, distorted man in front of him now… So why was he here?
Years ago he watched his beautiful angel of a friend cry, red hair disheveled, glasses askew, petite frame shaky, because this man, this man in front of him now made a choice that was not his to make, took a life not his to take, and forced her to grow up to young.
Years ago he watched his flawless saint of a friend grip her pink sweater and collapse to the ground, sobbing and distraught because her father just died on live television.
Years ago he turned the old television on, covered in dust and cat hair, and watched the woman on the small screen announce eighty injured.
Years ago he was brought into the gymnasium for an emergency meeting of the student body because his principal supposedly committed suicide.
Years ago he watched this boy in front of him destroy himself piece by piece.
All the people who died at the cold hands of this man, all the children forced to be orphaned, all the spouses losing their soulmates, everyone…
He would turn on the television at sixteen-year-olds, see a handsome face, a soft voice, and chestnut hair, speaking of the justice he fought for, the safety he would provide, the love he felt for his country. Everyone, everyone believed what he preached, they adored him, his own victims thanked him without as much as a second thought.
And every time they did pleasure from the praise crossed that mans face.
There was a still a small mark, in the crook of his neck, a small little bump from where they inserted the needle all those years ago. Oh, how he remembered how everything went blurry and all the chatter sounded incoherent and more like white noise than anything else. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, his body swelled with every hit they took at him, and he was sure that this was how hell felt like.
He choking out barely thought through words to Sae in desperation that he didn't let show, he had never prayed before then but being face to face with death made it tempting to grasp onto something even when he was once certain it didn't exist.
He remembered looking the other in the eye, feeling the cool of the metal of his gun rest on his forehead, he remembered venomous words,
"Case closed, this is how your justice ends."
He remembered the month he spent afraid, in hiding, in avoidance of this man he could cross paths with at any moment. He remembered Shido's palace, royal and full of sin, the rush of a fresh victory in his heart, he came eye to eye with his killer.
And he remembers this sad, sad, sad boy screaming at the top of his lungs, enraged and distorted, promising death to the other, even though everyone in that room knew he didn't truly want that. That would've never made him happy.
He remembered sleepless nights after two gunshots rang and the thought of no, he can't possibly be gone.
The hellish time he had sitting in the juvenile hall, the only one who could, because this man was supposedly missing.
"Akechi…" Was the voice even his? Did those words belong to him? They felt so shallow, baseless, but what did he say to his killer whom he thought was dead for the last five years? "You're alive."
"Indeed I am." Oh, how his voice sounded the same, but this time not as cheery, he no longer seemed like a cookie cutter frame, Goro seemed… Real. Sad, honest, and real. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed it has," Akira said with no bitterness, just blank, nothing. It must seem inhuman, after all, this man had put a gun to his head, had put him through hell, he should feel something.
No, he felt nothing.
If he felt anything it must have been pure disappointment that he was alive.
His chestnut hair was wrapped up in a ponytail, cheeks flushed from the winter night, he was wearing a basic cream-colored shirt and some blue jeans, he looked disheveled and nothing like the perfect prince detective he once called his teammate. If he didn't know better he would say the other looked attractive, but he knew better, much better.
"I've been in juvenile detention hall, I was jailed shortly after you were released. I just got out after five years, mostly jellied to good behavior." The detective said softly, looking up at the raven with those brown orbs.
"You shot yourself," Akira said numbly, finally closing the door behind them to give the two privacy.
"I tried, I awakened to another persona, the world went black and suddenly I was laying in my apartment. Honestly, I'm still trying to piece together all the details myself."
"We all thought you were dead."
"I wanted to be, after you were released from juvenile I turned myself into Sae, told her to keep it quiet, with your testimony and Shido's confession, they went a lot easier on me then I thought they would. Probably took pity on some stupid seventeen years old who was supposedly manipulated by the adults to do their dirty work." He laughed shallowly like he would before. "It was originally eight years, but being obedient, doing community service, and the intensive therapy sessions I went to three times a week helped bring it down to five."
Kurusu was quiet for a long time, blinking, glancing his silver eyes to the wooden deck below him before looking up at the once murderer. "Are you still angry?"
He was greeted with a pause and a thoughtful looking face. "Yes, I am, but it's not consuming me anymore. It's not the only thing that defines me like it once was, I actually have goals and hopes and something to live for. I haven't made peace with what happened fully… But I have gotten a lot better."
"Do you regret it?"
"You mean the murders?" He paused, a sigh escaping. "Yes, of course, I do, I can't go to sleep at night without thinking about what I did. And I regret doing what I did to you and your friends. Undoubtedly. It's sickening, I remember after I shot you, I laughed, it felt so good then. Not because I wanted you dead but because I thought I was one step closer to my goal… Now when I think about it, it's so disgusting, I was so arrogant. I shoved people down to make me feel like I was worth something and surrounded myself by people who adored me so I felt wanted. That wasn't healthy, that wasn't right, I was just using people." Akechi said softly, rubbing the back of his neck, the hairs standing up from the chill of his palm.
Akira didn't know how to react, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. There wasn't anything, no happiness, no anger, just the soft full of sadness in his heart that promised no release.
"Why come here? Why me? After five years, I would have assumed you would've stayed away. You wouldn't have just shown up to apologize, a letter would've been fine." The boy said softly, watching the other take a step closer, he fought the urge to take a step back.
"I wanted to apologize, of course, that's obvious but you are right, I wouldn't just show up for that reason." Akechi paused, was he nervous or was the shaking of his hands just from the cold? "I wanted to admit something I could never come to terms with before now. When I was younger I was attached to you, I used to see you with your friends, wrapping an arm around Sakamoto or twirling Niijima around, or even all the time you spent with Kitagawa… It made me jealous, somehow I wanted to claim you as mine and keep you to myself. I would go home and I would think of all these scenarios where you were mine… I didn't want to come to terms with it before, but I had feelings for you then. It made sense, I wanted to tell you everything, touch you and hold you, I had weird, sinful urges when it came to you. It angered me. It made me hate you more, so I felt even more determined to kill you, but after I did I just felt worse. I felt like I lost the only person who could've loved me… Akira, I'm still in love with you."
The air became thick and suddenly it was harder to breathe, what did he expect him to say, yes?
He remembered coming home late at night to the chime of "Welcome home!"
He remembered the way Goro flustered when he called him honey, Akira thought it was cute, he remembered getting home from a heist and seeing chestnut waves and forgetting his exhaustion. He could talk all night with this boy about anything and everything and it made him happy.
He remembered the jokes they cracked in the Mona car, how Crow laughed and smiled at him, complimented his phantom thief outfit. He remembered how he and Ann would banter back and forth, they got on surprisingly well, Ryuji would roll his eyes, and sometimes even Yusuke would make a small comment to the detective.
His pure smile used to melt him like chocolate, it was the only genuine smile Goro had, and he only wore it for Akira.
There was a featherman sticker on his laptop, he had chronic insomnia and used homemade herbal remedies to help him sleep, he even recommended a few to Akira, he loved cycling, hated eating in public, liked sushi, loved pancakes, had a gross sweet tooth but didn't like chocolate… He… He was so human.
Maybe they could've been something had they met years before, maybe they could've been best friends or something more, maybe he wouldn't be waking up to the smell of chemicals from acrylic paint and blue hair but instead chocolate brown eyes and chestnut hair. Maybe if Goro had told him this years ago he would've said yes, reached out, and saved him.
But this wasn't five years ago.
Those maybes didn't happen.
Those memories didn't stop Goro from pulling the trigger.
On him.
On anyone.
And he sure as hell didn't love him.
There are some things that even God can't forgive.
"I don't love you." There wasn't even hesitation, he didn't love him. The pain that crossed Goro's expression was just sad. "You should've thought about that before you pulled the trigger on me, on Futaba's mother, Haru's father, you should've thought before you killed innocent women, men, and children."
A pause, a shaky breath, a moment passed. "I'll never love you, Goro, you ensured that."
A single tear, a watery smile, a small nod, a broken composure. "That's fine."
It wasn't fine because he lied.
He had nothing to come home to, he had no goals, no hopes, his only goal was to make enough money so he could survive, past that he didn't have much else to live for.
He was merely existing, he wasn't living.
But that was okay as long as he could watch Akira grow happy… Even if it was from afar.
"I hope you find your peace," Akira said softly before opening the door, a remorseful look crosses his face as he gives him one last glance before closing the oak door on him.
The tears fell freely, cheeks stained red and damp with embarrassment and fear from his uncertain future, from losing the only person he let himself, love…
He turned his heel and held himself close, the only warmth he had, he walked away, a lifeline lost.
On the other side of the door, Akira breathed shakily, trying to regain his composure before he presented himself to his husband again. He wasn't sure how to face him right now… Any change in body language and he was sure to notice.
"Who was that?" Called from the living room, Akira put a smile on and rubbed his eyes.
"No one."