He's just ... going to leave. Just let that bomb fall—surprise! I've been dead since December!—and walk away. Akira isn't even aware he's moving when he reaches out to catch Goro's arm, fingers curling tight around his wrist.

Goro casts a sidelong glance back over his shoulder. "Second thoughts already?" he asks, voice light and pleasant but with steel underneath.

Mutely, Akira shakes his head, but his hold on Goro's wrist tightens further. "Nothing like that." He tugs, and at last Goro turns to face him again, impatient but not fighting. Akira lets him go. "Just ... if this is your last night, do you really want to be alone?"

Goro tips his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing. Not maliciously—Akira has seen that look enough to recognize it—but like he's trying to find where the catch is.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Not if you don't want to," Akira murmurs, "but," because there can be no open ends, or Goro will scuttle through them like a ferret through a cat flap, "yes. I do."

Goro's gaze drifts ceilingward for a moment, as if he is beseeching a higher power he almost certainly doesn't believe in for patience he almost certainly won't find. But then he sighs, looks at Akira again, and relents.

"If it means that much to you," he huffs.

Despite that, neither of them says anything else after that. They stand there in silence, just watching each other until it seems like even the fluorescent lights might turn deafening.

It's Akira who eventually breaks the quiet, mouth opening around a question he's not really ready to ask.

"Were you at least happy while you were back? At all? Ever?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Goro asks, irritation layered over his confusion like a security blanket.

Oh.

Akira laughs incredulously. "Because I give a shit about you, Ace Detective," he explains patiently. "And if the choice is in my hands to get you killed again, I want to know you at least thought part of it was worth it."

Goro opens his mouth to respond, but ... pauses. Evidently, he digs up something of his long-neglected tact, because rather than grinding salt into the wound, what he settles on is, "Has anyone ever told you how nauseatingly sentimental you are?"

Akira laughs, low and quiet, but nevertheless just verging on hysterical. "Oh, you don't know the half of it," he murmurs, lifting a hand to catch Goro's chin between two fingers.

Goro tenses. Neither of them moves for a few seconds. And then slowly, carefully, like he's trying not to startle a colt, Akira's hand slides back to cup the side of Goro's face, thumb sliding along his cheekbone.

Goro jerks his head back and retreats a step. "Don't you dare," he snarls, shoulders bunching halfway to his ears. He looks like he might bolt out the door at any moment.

"Akechi—"

"I said don't," he snaps. "I didn't want your pity before, and I sure as shit don't want it now, of all times." He scoffs out something like an ugly laugh. "Please. Is this the only way you can convince yourself to feel bad about my plight? To pretend we're some ridiculous pair of star-crossed—"

"For fuck's sake, Goro!" Akira seizes him by the forearms and gives him a shake—just a brief rattle.

Goro falls silent, mouth closing with a click. He looks like he can't quite decide if he's startled or offended, and lands somewhere in the realm of 'vaguely constipated.'

"If Maruki isn't allowed to tell us how we feel, you sure as hell don't get to tell me that, either," Akira snaps, though his hold on Goro's forearms doesn't relax.

Goro tries to retreat, managing only a step back before Akira's hold on his arms keeps him in place.

"I wasn't—" He gives a sort of aborted squirm before realizing he's not going anywhere. "That's not—" He closes his mouth again, takes a breath, and sighs. Something in his shoulders loosens, and they slump, just slightly. "You always have to make things harder for yourself, don't you?"

Akira snorts out an unattractive laugh, grip loosening enough for his hands to slide up Goro's arms to his shoulders. "That isn't how this works," he replies. "I'm saying it because the feeling is already there, not the other way around."

Goro opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he closes it again, the spot between his eyebrows scrunching with consternation. His hands flex at his sides before he lifts them abruptly, and for a split second, Akira is convinced he's going to get decked.

Instead, Goro seizes two handfuls of the front of Akira's shirt and hauls him forward. Their mouths meet with a click of teeth. Akira stumbles, overcorrects, and reels back a step, hands back to meet the edge of the table behind him. His hands curl around the edge of it for balance as he presses forward, leaning in before Goro can get the wrong idea, because he can and will assume that Akira is trying to flee at the slightest inclination.

There is nothing gentle about it, but they do at least find some modicum of grace after their collision, angled just so to avoid bashing their noses together. There's teeth and tongue and Goro's hold on the front of Akira's shirt remains tight, and Akira keeps a hold of the table behind him because he feels like he might burst apart at the seams if he lets go and that might put a damper on the moment if he lets it happen.

Maybe it's a minute, maybe ten, maybe a hundred, but eventually they separate, for a certain definition of the word, leaning apart just enough that their breath still mingles. Reluctantly, Akira opens his eyes. He doesn't remember closing them.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

And then, slowly, Goro's grip on Akira's shirt loosens and releases, hands instead drifting down, first to Akira's hips and then lower, hands curling against the backs of his legs. Akira lets himself be boosted up to sit on the edge of the table, finally letting go of the edge of it. He spreads his knees and instead threads a hand into Goro's hair to tug him closer.

Sitting on the table, he has just enough of a height advantage that Goro needs to tip his face up to meet Akira's eyes.

Goro searches Akira's face, and Akira wonders if he looks half as desperate as he feels. Whatever Goro finds there, evidently it's encouraging. His hands settle on Akira's thighs and he leans up, their lips meeting again.

It's ... slower, this time. Not quite gentle, but softer, in as much as anything Goro does can ever be called soft. An exploration, rather than a raid. Akira's eyes close again, and his fingers in Goro's hair loosen until he can run them through it, over and over, the motion almost absentminded.

If Goro wants to explore, then fine. Akira parts his lips and lets him, his free hand lifting to curl his fingers in the fabric of Goro's scarf, so he can at least hold on for the ride.

Even so, it's brief. Or is it? Akira feels like it is, but maybe he's biased. When they break apart a second time, the tip of Goro's nose traces along the bridge of Akira's, and fuck, but that's adorable. Akira opens his eyes and very nearly tells Goro exactly that, regardless of the odds of Goro then biting said nose off.

But Akira sees the look on Goro's face.

And he freezes.

It's nothing overt. It's not a revelation. It's not shining like the sun or gleaming like the moon off the snow. It's hidden in the corner of his lips and the edge of his eyes, and if they were any other two people, Akira wouldn't even know where to look.

"You had a question for me a moment ago," Goro observes, still standing close enough that their lips brush as he speaks. "Ask me again."