Archive of Our Own

“You’re ugly when you cry.”

Every day his mother would tell him. She would take him to the mirror in the bathroom, lifting him so he could face himself, and then finally, one particularly snowy evening, it finally hits him—the red, swollen, snot-covered face of an eight-year-old staring back at him belongs to Goro Akechi. He always tries to avert his gaze, but his mother doesn’t let him, holding him by the chin until he fully takes in the sight in front of him.

If he was a little older, he’d do a mental vivisection of his own body— he’d think about how the bone structure, the muscles, the very atoms gathering up almost accidentally to create the flesh under his fingertips were nothing in the grand scheme of things, and that other flesh holding him still was just as meaningless.

Goro Akechi’s mother will die three months from that moment. But for now, the still-warm body says:

“Remember that what you’re seeing here, is the very thing people will see too. That’s why I want you to never cry in front of the others. Don’t let them see you when you’re ugly and weak. Show them what you want them to see and always use it to your advantage.”

Goro is eight-years-old and it will take him two more years to master his technique—to cry when it’s convenient in a way that doesn’t leave him red and snot-covered. He’s an actor, and actors in the movies are always beautiful when they cry. It’s a promise he made to his mother long after she was gone.

But because Goro’s mother is still alive, he will cry and miss her when she’s not home. He cries every time she pushes him out of the door, nudging him towards the bathhouse. The old ladies in the neighborhood whisper in a way that they must think is inconspicuous as the cold air freezes the tears on Goro’s cheeks.

“Come now,” one of them says, leaning to take him by the hand. “You poor little angel. Cry your heart out, it’s okay. You can spend the night at my place, my grandchild left some toys that you can play with.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Goro snarls using words he hears his mother use sometimes when she’s angry. He doesn’t entirely get the meaning, but he knows it must work because the woman steps back as if he slapped her. “I’m not your angel, you old hag.”

“To throw out a kid like that during the first snowfall,” he hears another voice, and he grabs a rock near his foot, and he’s about to throw it at them when his mother leans from the window.

“Goro, that’s enough,” she says harshly. “Stop it, it’s unbecoming. You’re making a scene. I thought I gave you clear orders.”

Goro freezes. Of course, he knows by now how his mother feels about him. He’s not an angel, he’s an eyesore.

Goro’s fists fall uselessly at his sides as he makes his way towards the bathhouse. The next day he won’t cry, and his mother will reward him by pulling him into her lap, and she will promise to take him to the movies next week. They both know she won’t, but Goro has learned to find treasures where there are none, and so he will cherish the very idea of his mother taking him to the movies, and he’ll imagine it in his head every night when he can’t fall asleep.

“You’re my perfect little angel,” his mother says. “I want you to remember that whenever you miss me. You’re the only good thing to ever happen to me.”

Goro starts crying again, more tears and more snot staining his face, and his mother doesn’t comfort him, trying her best not to look disgusted as he falls apart in her arms.

Goro finds himself thinking that maybe if he wasn’t ugly and covered in snot, maybe then his father wouldn’t have left them.

***

“The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country,” Akira announces instead of a ‘hello’.

Goro barely looks up from his laptop, his fingers hesitating over the keys for a moment before resuming his work. The essay isn’t due for another two weeks, and it’s not like he can’t stop for a brief moment, but he likes to think Akira Kurusu doesn’t rule over his life. He doesn’t need to stop whatever he’s doing just to talk to him—in fact, even thinking about what Akira might think or not think about him is an insult to Goro’s ego.

“I take it the weather back in your hometown was as cold and unkind as the residents,” he comments. It would be unwise to ignore him—Akira tends to become annoying when Goro ignores him, and undoubtedly, he’d go as far as closing Goro’s laptop until Goro gives him his undivided attention.

Akira Kurusu is needy and transparent, the exact opposite of what can be said about Goro. And despite all of that, Goro can’t decipher him. With all the emotions Akira puts in front of him on a silver platter, Goro can’t help but think that there is a secret menu that Goro isn’t privy to, and the sheer thought makes his skin crawl.

“Yasunari Kawabata,” Akira grabs the apple from the counter, and he bites into it like it’s the best thing he ever tasted. Unlike Goro, Akira is focused on living his life to the fullest—being around him is like watching a Coca-Cola commercial, where you find yourself thinking that no one can be possibly this happy with something so silly and meaningless. Goro doesn’t like it when things are meaningless.

“I don’t have the luxury to read things that aren’t absolutely necessary for my self-improvement,” Goro says stiffly. “So I’d hardly consider it a win if I were you.”

Goro despises poetry and he despises literature. Akira is a literature major and he likes using it to his advantage when he wants to feel better about himself.

They do this a lot. Intellectual ping-pong matches over the dinner table. Flexing their knowledge, their skills until one of them gives up and calls it a night. Goro tends to win because he doesn’t have a wide social circle that requires his attention at all times, and he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“How was your mother?” Goro asks, closing the laptop out of his own volition because Akira Kurusu definitely doesn’t rule over his life.

“Neurotic.”

“Father?”

“Drunk.”

“The usual then,” Goro drags his finger around the edge of his empty coffee cup. Akira moves like a well-trained dog, refilling his cup and making one for himself. It’s cheap coffee Goro bought in the convenience store downstairs just because he knew Akira would complain about it.

“I don’t know how you can drink this stuff,” Akira winces at the taste predictably. When he sits next to Goro, his legs barely brush against Goro’s, like there’s an invisible sheet of paper separating their bodies.

“Well, I need to get by without my coffee snob roommate keeping me deliciously caffeinated,” Goro takes a sip and he tries not to make it too obvious that he hates the taste just as much. “You’ve been gone awfully long.”

Akira looks at him with a puzzled expression. Goro likes to think that by now, Akira can unpack the loaded baggage behind Goro’s words.

You shouldn’t skip classes to solve your parents’ issues for them.

You shouldn’t allow yourself to get close to them because you’re going to get hurt again.

They’re dragging you down and I can’t let them do that.

“It’s okay,” Akira answers slowly, like every word matters. “It’s good to leave Tokyo every now and then, just to clear my head. You should try it.”

Goro can’t relate—it’s not like there are things in his head that require clearing. He’s focused on his goals and the only thing ruining his plans so far is sitting across the cheap table, gnawing at his heart from the inside just by breathing in his vicinity.

Goro finds himself wondering if Akira’s worth it. And then Akira smiles at him the way he always does when he comes home. It took Goro some time, but eventually, he was able to decipher that smile, too.

I missed you.

No one’s ever missed Goro Akechi before, and the concept is enough to make his head spin.

He treasures that smile even if he knows it doesn’t mean anything. The same way his mother’s words didn’t mean anything—Akira’s smile will always be a promise that cannot be fulfilled no matter how many times Goro will replay it in his head before going to bed.

***

Goro Akechi has been in love with Akira Kurusu for two years, sixty-one days, three hours, and forty-five minutes—and counting.

He makes sure to keep track of it, just to be able to say “Goro Akechi successfully managed to fall out of love with Akira Kurusu after...”, the exact numbers somehow making it all the more satisfying.

Naturally, it’s all for the sake of self-improvement. He needs to know how long it takes him to get over someone, so he could be more efficient about it next time. At the same time, Goro likes to think there won’t be a next time, and that Akira Kurusu is another anomaly to disgrace the universe with its impossibility. A mistake he made once, never to repeat it.

The first time he saw him, Tokyo was taken by surprise by a sudden snowfall. Goro never knew winter to be so harsh as it was that year since he never stuck his nose outside the city save for school trips.

The students at the university huddle in the great hall like penguins seeking warmth in an orderly manner—humanities never mixing with sciences, the law and the medicine students even further away in their own elitist group, and somehow Goro finds himself stuck in the middle.

His fingers itch to have a smoke, but it does seem like the snow’s only gotten worse, and Goro forgot to bring an umbrella.

“Dude,” an offensively loud student next to him says to his friend. “We’re gonna be late because of the effing snow. Wanna make a run for it? Betcha I can outrun you.”

His manner of speech is so disgustingly obnoxious that Goro can’t fathom how someone so bad-mannered managed to graduate from high school, not to mention pass the entry exams for a prestigious university.

“I’m not running in these boots,” the blonde next to him says, equally loud. “And you guys shouldn’t either! It’s slippery outside and I’m not taking you to the hospital. I’m meeting my dad for dinner! Use your head every now and then, Ryuji.”

“I wasn’t asking ya,” the guy, Ryuji, rolls his eyes. “Akira, it’s your call.”

Devoid of better sources of entertainment, Goro follows his gaze to an unruly mop of black hair, and he feels his blood boil.

He’s seen him before in his philosophy class. Akira—or at least that’s his name if Ryuji’s comment was any indication—wouldn’t speak during class discussions, he barely participated in the class, spending most of the time on his phone with a self-righteous grin plastered to his face. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another guy wasting the spot with his futile existence.

Or so Goro thought. Akira still got a higher score on the final test than Goro did, and Goro never managed to forgive him. He didn’t even know his name then, he simply knew he hated him at first sight.

“Ann’s right,” Akira rubs the back of his neck as if to soften the authoritative tone. “We have time, let’s just walk.”

“Must be nice to have your dad pick you up in a fancy car,” Ryuji looks at Ann accusingly. “Solidity means nothing to ya?”

“Solidarity,” Akira corrects him automatically.

“Oh yeah,” Ryuji scratches his head. “I always mix the two.”

Goro can’t help but snort. They all turn to look at him and out of the three of them, Akira is the only one to look mildly amused.

“No one taught you it’s fucking rude to eavesdrop on other people?” the obnoxious ape has the audacity to ask him without a hint of manners, like he actually deems them equals.

Goro feels his cheeks burn anyway. “I have better things to do than eavesdropping on infants, I assure you. Besides, I don’t think you can call it eavesdropping when you’re the one yelling in the hall full of people.”

“Aren’t you a smartass,” Ryuji snarls. “Akira, let’s get out of here.”

“You go with Ann,” Akira says softly. “I just remembered I still need something from the library and I know you hate it there. Don’t let me keep you.”

“It’s because they always throw him out for being loud,” Ann giggles as if she’s one to talk. “And yeah, I suppose my dad can give you a ride. Let’s go, Ryuji.”

It’s suspicious how quickly she makes her escape, dragging a somewhat confused Ryuji behind her like a rag doll. Akira doesn’t move, his grey eyes fixed on Goro in a challenge. He doesn’t say a single word, and yet Goro finds himself shivering under the piercing gaze alone.

“That was a lie,” Goro states, even if it’s obvious. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me, you were scared to admit your loving dad is about to pick you up as well? Must be nice to be so pampered.”

He’s making a lot of assumptions out of sheer spite, because he imagines Akira, his newly found rival, to have everything that Goro doesn’t. He braces himself for a snarky remark—but it never comes.

Instead, the first thing Akira Kurusu says to him is, “Looks like you could use some pampering yourself.”

Goro can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or flirting, or maybe both. As his brain short-circuits, Akira leans in so close that Goro can smell his aftershave—it works like smelling salts, and somehow Goro is able to take a step back. He hates that Akira looks completely unaffected.

“My father hasn’t taught me a single thing,” Akira confesses, like they’re not complete strangers. “Besides, if he ever showed up here, I’d never get into a car with him. I hate my fucking dad.”

“And for your information, I wasn’t lying about the library,” he adds. “I’ll see you around, Goro.”

Goro shouldn’t be surprised that Akira remembers him, but the shock of hearing his first name said so blatantly by a total stranger keeps his tongue successfully glued to his palate, which is probably what Akira intended and he curses himself for falling for it.

As Akira turns to leave, Goro’s already half in love and ready to discard every shred of dignity he believed he still had to call out after him.

The truth is, Goro never wanted anyone this badly, in fact, he never wanted anyone period. So of course, the worst possible scenario comes to life—Akira Kurusu and Goro Akechi become friends. Akira never shows any interest in him beyond intellectual stimuli, and he hasn’t called Goro by his first name ever again. It was just another ploy to trap him in the intricate web of Akira’s relationships, stretching out somewhere out of Goro’s reach.

Two weeks later, Akira calls him in the middle of the night to tell him he needs a new roommate. Goro agrees as easily as if they knew each other forever. The non-pragmatic part of his brain insists that maybe they really do—it’s been ever so easy to blame his mistakes on a trick of fate.

***

Since Akira Kurusu devoted his life to living to the fullest, he spends more time dating than he does studying—and somehow, he always lands on his feet. Goro notes that due to his well-hidden narcissistic tendencies, he seems to be under the impression that other people don’t have better things to do than to preoccupy themselves with his convoluted love life, which might be one of the many reasons Akira was left without a roommate so suddenly.

Goro had to accept that Akira brings his dates home without asking first, and Akira had to put up with Goro playing jazz music in the middle of the night. They compromise until it works—at least they’re both nocturnal, so it’s not like they’re keeping each other awake.

After each ‘date’, Goro finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror more often than he usually does. He studies his face carefully, comparing each feature, each wrinkle, each expression with whatever girl’s that Akira brought home. He tries to work out a solution, something to tell him where exactly he fucked up to have the one person he’s interested in refuse his feelings so blatantly.

It’s not like Akira had to tell him, but because they came to understand each other so well, Goro is sure it doesn’t need saying.

He tells himself that maybe Akira Kurusu is the only person except for his mother to be able to see through him—to see the ugly sniveling brat lying underneath, the brat that he buried deep inside and used as a foundation for his new personality. He makes sure to never forget him, forget how ugly he’s been, and compare it with how beautiful he’s become. How much he sacrificed to be perfect, even if it makes him the loneliest person on the planet.

“Angels are lonely in paradise,” his mother’s voice reminds him. “But you don’t need other people as long as you become perfect. I’ll help you become the man you deserve to be. You’ll be self-sufficient, you’ll be successful. I’ll make sure of that, Goro.”

Goro is tired of being lonely.

He wants Akira to hold him, kiss him, fuck him on every inch of their rundown apartment—he wants Akira to be utterly captivated by his beauty, to be his, and his alone. He wants Akira to be unable to think of anyone other than Goro. He wants him to abandon all his friends and responsibilities, and devote himself to spend his life by Goro’s side.

But if he did all that, Goro wouldn’t be in love with him.

He loves Akira for always being late. He loves the way he’s out of tune when he hums along to whatever jazz album Goro’s currently obsessing over. He loves his messy hair and the way his glasses are always slightly crooked on his nose. He loves his ugly t-shirts and the way Akira argues with Goro over every little thing. Most of all, he loves the way he won’t love Goro back.

It’s the little imperfections that make Goro so viscerally upset. How could he, out of all people, fall in love with someone so hopeless? Akira could very well ruin all the years he spent perfecting his image, infesting him with his own mediocre tastes, his idealistic point of view, all the things Goro told himself to refuse. And yet, he’s never felt as fulfilled as he does when talking to Akira. He’s an anomaly, Goro tells himself again. That’s the only explanation he can come up with for the bizarre turn of events.

With all the effort he spent for someone to want him, to love him back, Akira’s obvious lack of interest feels like a slap in the face. Goro would never take the saccharic fantasy he conjured up in his head over the reality, but he still feels a ping of jealousy when Akira smiles at other people the way he smiles at Goro when he hears him laugh over the phone, the way he did when Goro told him a clever joke. He analyzes Akira’s relationships, he learns from them, shaping and twisting until he finds yet another way to impress him.

For a moment, he’s a kid again, a rock heavy in his hand, and he wants to aim it at anyone who gets too close to Akira. Except, it wouldn’t be enough and nothing ever will be. He could set the whole Earth on fire, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He’s trying so hard he became desperate. Unbecoming.

It’s all because I’m still not perfect, he tells himself. So he works harder. And harder. He uses every bit of spite pumping through his veins to his advantage.

Luckily, Goro Akechi bears enough resentment to last a few lifetimes.

***

It takes him three years, one day, two hours and twenty-four minutes to stop trying.

Instead, he puts his effort into his schoolwork, his part-time job, telling himself it’s okay to be lonely. He gets more snappy around Akira, and they fight more often than usual, but by the end of it, Akira’s always smiling. Goro hates that about him.

Goro’s finally found the missing piece of the equation—rather than rid himself of the feelings that he had, he can keep them at the same level, and simply change their nature. It’s easy enough to transform all his love into hatred, to have the same obsession push him into a somewhat different direction. It’s an improvement regardless—he can see it in the way Akira looks at him with newly-found respect, some of his expressions finally reserved for Goro’s eyes alone.

Sadly, it does little to sabotage Akira’s love life. If anything, he seems to bring more girls home, but with every Nameless Fuck, Goro finds himself caring less and less.

Some nights are worse than others.

Goro closes his eyes as the Nameless Fuck of the Month cries out Akira’s name like he’s the best thing to happen to her. Goro would be happy to provide her with an extended essay highlighting all the poor life decisions she likely made to lead her up to this point, very likely involving her emotionally distant father—Akira has a type after all.

He carefully counts every time the headboard hits the wall separating their bedrooms, imagining bashing Akira’s head in to the same rhythm. While soothing, the mental image does little to put him back to sleep.

He starts rutting against the sheets the moment Akira picks up the rhythm again, and whatever moan he makes, Goro muffles it with his pillow.

When he comes a few minutes later, he finds himself hoping the Nameless Fuck won’t take too much time in the shower the following morning. Showing up to class still sticky with his own come might be something Akira does, but Goro likes to think he has some standards.

At least, Akira never offers them to stay for coffee. He knows the morning coffee ritual is sacred for Goro.

The next day, they always act like nothing’s happened. Goro jerks himself off in the shower, while Akira cleans after the breakfast. The Nameless Fuck’s already gone by then.

“I’m sorry,” Akira mutters when Goro comes back. “I want you to know that I didn’t mean to—”

“I thought we had an agreement,” Goro says before he can stop himself. “Don’t talk to me about whatever trash you bring to your bedroom. You had fun last night, trust me, I heard. I know how much disregard you have for my sleeping schedule, my career, pretty much everything in my life that doesn’t concern you. So at least do us both a favor and keep your bad life choices where they’re supposed to be—in your bedroom.”

The silence between them is not rare, and most of the time not at all unwelcome—if anything, it’s comfortable. So it’s surprising to feel the weird static between them, growing with every second Akira doesn’t open his mouth. Goro’s so desperate to end it that he searches around the room to find any topic worth mentioning until his eyes fall on the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor.

“I wanted to say I broke your favorite cup,” Akira clears his throat. “I can’t say I’m an expert, but my friend is something of a collector. I’m sure she’ll find a nice replacement. I’m sorry, it looked expensive.”

It was in fact, and Goro got it as a gift a long time ago. But it doesn’t matter for now.

He’s never felt so humiliated.

“Goro, I’m—”

“Don’t,” Goro presses his lips together. “Don’t use my first name. Especially not now.”

Akira eyes him carefully before slowly nodding. “Right. I should get going. It’s your turn to do the groceries, Akechi.”

With every passing day, something between them shifts.

Goro is scared that one day it might finally give out under the pressure and inevitably break.

Goro Akechi is not the easiest person to love.

Akira likes to consider himself an expert on complicated love lives. And out of all the feelings he’s had so far, his love for Goro is by far the most difficult to explain.

He hates Goro’s fake smile that never reaches his eyes. He hates his perfectionist attitude and the way he lectures Akira on every little thing. He hates his impeccable haircut, and well-ironed clothes—seriously, who the fuck irons their jeans. And finally, he hates the way Goro talks like he’s a robot made to please everyone around him but himself.

He’s never had so many contradictory feelings about one person, and it takes him time to understand why.

“I love buildings that aren’t all that well-preserved,” an architecture student he was dating at the time told him once. “Look at old European cathedrals, towering over people in a conceited attempt to reach God. It’s nice when you see little cracks in the facade—it makes you realize the weight of all the experiences it witnessed, a lot like wrinkles on an old person’s face. It’s very human, don’t you think?”

It’s the kind of pretentious thing he would expect Goro to say. At least, she made it easy to fall in love with her, and they dated for three months—longer than Akira remembers ever dating anyone. And then they broke up, for the same reason all the other girls broke up with him. His heart simply wasn’t in it.

Ever since he heard Goro speak during his philosophy class for the first time, he’s found himself comparing every girl he meets to the way Goro talks, dresses, he compares all their habits and preferences, even the little quirks he learned about after they moved in together. It becomes so unbearable that eventually, he resorts to dating girls who don’t care about commitment, and he can safely lock his love life away in his bedroom. It’s all very quid pro quo, as Goro would say—at least Akira doesn’t break any more hearts.

The thing is, Akira enjoys sex. It keeps his mind off things and unlike most things in his life, it’s not overly complicated—or so he thinks for the longest time.

And then one time, he comes home early, some of his classes canceled due to the ongoing flu season. With his friends busy, Akira decides to surprise Goro by cooking him his favorite gourmet meal. He places the groceries on the counter, and he reaches to the cabinet to pour himself a glass of water when he hears it.

Goro’s moaning, louder than he’s ever heard him. It’s not like he’s heard it a lot, but they were roommates, so of course, he caught him jerking off before, even if he never mentioned it. He’s very much aware of the collection of sex toys Goro keeps in his drawer, and he saw the empty bottles of lube in the trash. It doesn’t bother him, if anything, he’s glad Goro gets off sometimes, with how uptight he always is.

Except for this time, he can tell Goro is not alone.

Akira squeezes the water bottle in his hand as his mind races.

He wonders if the guy Goro’s with is bigger than the sex toys he saw in the drawer. He wonders if Goro’s bottoming or maybe he decided to fuck the Nameless Guy instead. He wonders if he’s in any way similar to Akira, if Goro picked him just to spite him. Maybe he finally wants to claim what Akira stubbornly refused to give him, and if that’s the case, Akira’s the one to blame.

As much as he hates to admit it, Akira is very much aware that Goro is in love with him. Painfully aware that he kept on breaking his heart with every girl he brought home. He can’t explain his logic—maybe he selfishly hoped that one day Goro would stop him.

Akira leaves the apartment in a hurry, trying to be as quiet as possible. Half-way through the cold staircase, he realizes he forgot to put his shoes on, and he’s still holding a bottle of water in his hand, but he refuses to turn back.

He comes home two hours later, acting like he didn’t spend all that time just around the corner. Goro doesn’t comment on Akira’s lack of shoes or the unexplained appearance of groceries, and Akira doesn’t comment on the used condoms he finds in the trash can.

Even if they never talk about it, nothing’s the same afterward.

Akira curses himself for thinking Goro Akechi would patiently wait for him to come around.

***

Akira loves Goro’s old jazz records.

He loves when Goro gets competitive over every little thing.

He loves his petty comments when they watch shitty reality shows on TV.

He loves watching him fall asleep when doing his homework and he realizes he’s one of the few people to know that Goro Akechi sleeps with his mouth open.

He loves his boring philosophy books, full of little notes and comments that Akira will never be smart enough to understand, even if he got a higher score than Goro that one time they shared the class.

He loves the empty cups of coffee decorating every inch of the apartment whenever Goro’s cramming for an exam.

He loves the way his lips tighten when Akira mentions his family and the way he dodges Akira’s questions when he asks him about his own.

He loves the way Goro Akechi can never be his because in the end, they’d just ruin each other in the same way they seem to be ruining everything else.

***

It’s very difficult to get under Akira’s skin.

First of all, Akira never takes himself too seriously—it’s hard to hurt someone’s feelings if they’re not entirely swallowed by their own ego. That’s what makes Goro so easy to break even if Goro refuses to admit it.

Second of all, Akira refuses to engage himself in things that don’t involve his interest. He's aware that the sheer concept drives Goro up the wall, and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure how to define things that he deems worthy of his attention. Overall, Akira considers himself to be happy and if he’s not, he can fool himself into forgetting about his problems easily enough.

Third of all, unlike Goro, Akira likes other people and he finds them to be the most vital cornerstones on his road to self-discovery. It’s one of the reasons why he feels the need to connect to them so much, and it’s likely why his love life became so convoluted.

Being so straightforward as he is, Akira doesn’t easily hate people. And yet, with all his might, Akira hates Goro’s new boyfriend.

Akira calls him that out of the lack of a better word, but it’s not like Goro’s ever talked about him, so Akira can’t exactly say much about their relationship. Goro brings him home without a word, during which time Akira withdraws to his bedroom. He childishly stays there until the guy leaves, and when he comes out, he does his best to ignore Goro’s lingering carefree smile that he knows to be fake.

At first, he thinks it’s Goro’s way of punishing him.

If Akira were to count from the first time he heard them fuck, Goro has been dating his boyfriend for three months, four days, ten hours, and seventeen minutes. Akira keeps track of it just in case they break up.

He also realizes he hasn’t brought anyone home in two months, though he’s not as detailed about it as he is with Goro’s love life. In any case, Goro acts like he doesn’t notice anything peculiar about Akira’s change of habits.

When Goro and his boyfriend hit the six-month mark, Akira’s already a mess. He’s been fucking up more classes, getting snappy with his friends, sometimes refusing to show up for work, testing Sojiro’s mercy with each passing day. At that point, Ryuji finally says—

“Enough,” he slams his fist on the table in Leblanc. “All of us are finally old enough to drink, and you’ve been dodging us for months. You’re coming with us.”

Like most decisions he lets Ryuji make for him, it ends with a massive hangover and a fresh bundle of new regrets.

When he drags himself to the kitchen the next morning, Goro’s already there positively gloating.

“I made you coffee,” he says somehow triumphantly. “I figured you might need it.”

Akira mumbles something akin to a thank you, and he takes a seat next to Goro. Goro looks at him with a hint of disgust and Akira realizes there’s puke on the corner of his shirt—likely not his own, since Akira never pukes. As if to spite him, Goro looks radiant, having no doubt spent the night fucking his boyfriend on every inch of their apartment, using Akira’s absence to his advantage—the thought makes Akira reconsider his previous stance on puking.

“Ryuji’s been well I trust,” Goro says politely, like he’s guest-starring on the NHK’s new period drama. “I must say, it’s been a while since I saw him. Not that I mind, of course.”

Akira briefly wonders if Goro’s seen much other than his bedroom’s ceiling recently, but he decides not to say it. “He’s fine.”

“Are you fine, Akira?”

Goro rarely uses his first name, even if Akira told him it’s fine—they’re friends, after all. It means Goro’s actually worried, and having the pity directed at him for once makes something heavy and ugly sink in his stomach. He’s used to be the one taking care of other people, not the other way around. That’s why he says through gritted teeth:

“I’m great. I shouldn’t have drunk so much, but other than that I’m fine.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re lying,” Goro points out blatantly. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“You know what I want to say,” Goro smirks, hiding behind the newspaper. “Quid est…”

“Oh my god,” Akira closes his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

Goro looks at him, absolutely appalled. “What?”

“Do you know who speaks Latin?” Akira asks, not waiting for Goro’s answer. “Dead people. There’s a reason for that too—maybe it should stay dead. I get it, you get off to being smarter than everyone else, but for the love of the almighty god, can you at least not quote Latin at the breakfast table when I’m absolutely hungover and can’t even think clearly in Japanese?”

Goro takes a sip of his coffee, seemingly calm, but Akira doesn’t miss the way his fingers grip the cup—frankly, he’s quite surprised the delicate porcelain is still intact. “To be fair, you always found it hard to think in Japanese or any other language for that matter. And that hangover is your own fault.”

“I’m sure ancient Romans had a saying for that, too.” Akira snaps, wishing for nothing more than for Earth to explode, just so he doesn’t have to deal with the sunlight and Goro’s pretentiousness first thing in the morning. “So next time maybe tell me not to be a stupid piece of shit in Latin.”

“Akira, I’m so—”

“I don’t want to hear apologies,” Akira says. “Not from you. Save your kindness for your new boyfriend, we both know you don’t have much to spare.”

He half-expects Goro to slap him. He doesn’t, which only makes it worse.

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Goro looks like he’s on the verge of crying. His knuckles are white when they’re tightened on the edge of the table in a weak attempt to pull himself together.

Akira broke many hearts, he saw plenty of tears, heard many insults directed at him. And yet, he still manages to feel like the worst scumbag on Earth.

It’s funny—all the time he spent worrying that Goro would ruin him, he never considered that he might be the one ruining him.

“Fuck you,” Goro says finally. “My god, actually fuck you. You don’t get to be jealous. You don’t get to be an asshole when I spent so long trying to get over you. I kept counting it, did you know? Days since I first fell in love with you. You knew about my feelings, and yet you kept toying with me, kept fucking all that trash—”

He falls silent, like he doesn’t trust his own mouth.

I loved you, too, Akira wants to say.

“I was scared,” he says instead. It’s his weakest line of defense but he uses it anyway. Goro deserves that win, but he doesn’t seem all that willing to claim it. He hides his face in his hands, and if it wasn’t for the slight shake of his shoulders, Akira wouldn’t know that he’s still trying not to cry.

“It’s going to feel better if you let it out,” Akira says absently. “Cry your heart out.”

For some reason, it makes things worse. Goro looks up, his eyes red and lips tightened, the most picturesque depiction of rage Akira’s ever seen. “Don’t say that to me. Not you, not—”

Akira closes the space between them to hold him. It’s uncomfortable with Goro still sitting on a chair, so they move to the floor eventually, and he doesn’t know how long it takes for Goro to calm down.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells him out of some selfish need.

It only makes Goro sob louder.

***

“I want you to fuck me,” Goro tells him the next day.

“Your boyfriend’s out of town?” Akira asks, unable to treat Goro seriously. “I’m sure you can find a better replacement.”

“My boyfriend has nothing to do with it,” Goro says coldly. “We both want it, there’s still some lingering tension that I’d like to get rid of if you want me to still be your roommate. If it makes you feel better, it means nothing to me. Think of it as taking out the trash.”

It doesn’t make him feel better.

Still, Goro’s a bad liar. Akira was never one to point out the obvious, however. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a terrible idea, Goro.”

Goro hesitates before meeting his eyes. “I know.”

It seems like sometimes even the most obvious things need to be said.

No matter how convoluted his love life was, Akira’s never cheated on someone before. He doesn’t know how it’s going to feel for Goro. Maybe that’s what makes it so easy to comply despite his better judgment.

They do it in Akira’s bedroom, then in Goro’s bedroom, then in the kitchen, and in the living room. Fucking Goro is everything he wanted it to be. Akira mostly dated girls, but even if he was with guys, it never felt the way it does with Goro. Goro lets Akira mark his body, and Akira briefly wonders if perhaps this is something he discussed with his boyfriend. Consensual cheating, if such a thing even exists. It was probably his idea anyhow.

They’re not able to stop after the first time, and by the next month, they’ve fucked in all the positions Akira fantasized about, in all the places he imagined fucking Goro.

The presence of Goro’s boyfriend bothers him less and less until he forgets that Goro has never belonged to Akira in the first place.

***

“I should move out,” Goro says in December.

The bottle of wine slips from Akira’s grasp and smashes on the floor. Goro barely flinches.

Akira doesn’t know how he hasn’t seen it coming. The little things he thought were weird about Goro’s behavior recently. How quiet he’s been, how often he’d catch Goro staring at him with the most open longing. He should know better.

“Are you sure?” Akira asks.

“I never do things unless I’m one hundred percent sure. You should know it by now, Akira.”

Akira doesn’t know what to say.

He really thought Goro was going to pick him. But if he knew it was going to end like this, Akira would never fuck him in the first place. Perhaps it’s why he refused to act on his feelings for so long in the first place.

For the first time in his life, he’s the one getting his heart broken and it’s more painful than he could ever imagine it to be.

“Is he—” he clears his throat when his voice gives out. “Are you—with him, I mean.”

Has he ever seen you cry?

Has he ever heard you insult every single person on the campus, starting with the students, ending with the staff, including the most renowned professors?

Does he know to never mention your mother? And worst of all, your dad?

Does he know you take your coffee with the tiniest drop of milk?

Would he let you see him at his most vulnerable?

Does he cry out your name the way you do mine?

“Yes,” Goro says firmly. “With him.”

“I wish you all the best,” he tells Goro.

He probably means it.

***

Two months later, he finds out from Ann that Goro and his boyfriend broke up. She knows him from her class, and apparently, he’s been pretty shaken up about it. Goro’s put on his usual mask, not letting anyone get close.

“He’s a good guy”, Ann says. “He deserved better than Akechi. No offense to your ex-roommate, of course. Apparently, he’s been using him to get back on someone, can you imagine that?”

Akechi deserved better than me, Akira thinks.

He briefly wonders how many lives he managed to destroy just by committing to his selfish idea of happiness.

After graduation, Goro just disappears.

Akira doesn’t know what to feel.

***

His mother passes away in April.

His father follows soon after.

Akira focuses on his work as the seasons blend into one another in a whirl of shapes and colors.

Even surrounded by people he loves, he feels more lonely than ever.

***

Akira stands under the umbrella, his fingers rigid from the cold. He doesn’t smoke too often, but with how stressful his job’s been recently, he finds it to be a welcome stress reliever.

The people around him get married, start families and life somehow moves on. Akira gets a cat and picks up a few unhealthy habits. Somehow it’s enough.

“Mind if I join you?”

Akira wonders if he should act surprised to see Goro Akechi standing in front of him. The truth is, Futaba’s told him about his whereabouts, and that he’s only recently come back to Tokyo. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he simply nods and Goro slides under the umbrella, his presence warm at Akira’s side.

“Cigarette?” Akira asks huskily when Goro makes no effort to start a conversation.

“Thank you,” Goro shakes his head. “I’m trying to quit.”

Goro is beautiful and time’s only been kind to him. His hair is slightly longer, now falling in his eyes, his clothes slightly more stylish than Akira remembers them being. He looks more relaxed, too and it makes Akira happy.

He looks at his watch. He hasn’t seen Goro for the grand total of four years, two hundred days, three hours, and seventeen minutes. He wonders if Goro’s been counting. As if prompted, Goro says suddenly:

“Every human being flows through time in a different way.”

Of course, it’s the most pretentious thing he can quote. Akira missed him.

“You’ve read the novel,” Akira hums. “Color me impressed. Did you like it?”

“It’s very you,” Goro says, like it answers the question.

Akira doesn’t push him but his grip on the umbrella tightens.

“How are your parents?” Goro asks next.

“Dead,” Akira replies flatly.

“Congratulations,” Goro comments in the same manner, and it actually makes Akira laugh.

“Thanks,” he says. “Not a lot of people say that.”

“Not a lot of people know you the way I do,” Goro points out. “And yet, I must say even I can’t say that I’m entirely sure why you’re standing outside with an umbrella during such beautiful weather.”

“It’s going to snow soon,” Akira says simply.

“No, it’s not,” Goro replies somehow defensively. “The weather report said—”

“Just trust me,” Akira smiles. “I know a thing or two about snow, having grown up where I did. All these people are going to regret not bringing the umbrella.”

“But not you.”

“Not me.”

“Because you’re so dependable.”

“It’s my trademark.”

It all falls into place as if nothing happened, as if Goro never left. After all that heartache, it’s oddly comforting.

“Where have you been?” Akira asks him like he doesn’t know.

“Here and there,” Goro answers evasively, because in all likelihood, he knows that Akira knows. “Clearing my head, like you said.”

“You’ve been gone awfully long,” Akira remarks. “Did it help?”

“I like to think so.”

Akira doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Are you still scared?” Goro asks after another moment of comfortable silence. “I know our last conversation left so many things unclear between us, but I still feel like we can just pick up where we left off. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

Akira ponders his words for a moment. It’s somehow poetic in its irony—Goro pressed pause when Akira pressed rewind, and yet, it’s like all these months without him don’t matter for a moment.

“It’s hard to be scared of anything with you at my side,” he says eventually.

It makes something playful that Akira isn’t yet familiar with light up in Goro’s eyes. “Perhaps, you’d be able to help me then. You see, I haven’t been back for long yet, and it so happens, that I’m in dire need of a roommate.”

“I see,” Akira nods. “Any specific requirements?”

“Well, they would have to put up with my habits,” Goro continues in a business manner. “I like to listen to my jazz albums and it can get quite loud. I’m a coffee snob, so it would be nice if my roommate shared my coffee addiction. Oh, and I suppose it would be nice if they didn’t bring dates unannounced. Or at all, for that matter.”

“Are you dating someone?” Akira asks. “It’s hardly fair if they’re the only ones maintaining the celibacy.”

“I might soon,” Goro hesitates. “If that’s okay with you. I mean them. And I don’t believe I said anything about celibacy.”

“Good,” Akira says. “I feel like your roommate would really hate that.”

“My roommate or my boyfriend?”

“Both,” Akira mutters, closing the space between their mouths. Goro goes pliant under him and Akira lets the umbrella drop from his grip just to hold him with both hands. He wants to keep them both anchored in the now, scared that if he lets go even for a moment Goro will disappear again. He hits pause and for the first time in his life, he feels tempted to stop counting.

“You were right,” Goro whispers when they part.

“Back then?”

Goro stops for a moment. It’s always been hard for him to admit Akira’s right about something. “That too. But I mean about the snow. Look.”

People around them point to the sky excitedly—the first snow of the year. And yet, Akira keeps his eyes focused on Goro, committing his features to memory just in case he’s going to wake up soon, like it’s all been a dream.

“I forgot how beautiful snow is,” Goro says next to him. His eyes are pointed towards the sky, some childish bewilderment present in his handsome features.

Akira knows from Futaba that where he’s been, it never snows and it rarely rains. Akira finds the very idea miserable.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to admire the snow. Not with Goro Akechi right there under his nose.

“Me too,” he says.

He hopes that Goro will be able to decipher the meaning.

With the softest snowflakes dancing around them in the most peculiar performance, Akira holds on to Goro’s hand with the honest intent to never let it go.