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Goro can't tell if he hates or loves the snow. He watches it blow around in circles from inside the comfort of Leblanc, or maybe it can't truly be called comfort; the only heater in the building is up in the attic. It's nearly as cold in the café as out of it.
Even so, there's a warm feeling, a glow, that permeates every corner. From his spot at the bar, Goro can see the rings of coffee stains from annoying customers long past. Akira's small collection of books held upright by one bookend and one glassware container pretending to be one. The jars upon jars of coffee beans lined up on the back wall, the ones that Goro is starting to learn to identify. And, of course, the barista standing behind the counter, as permanent as all the other fixtures in the room and yet constantly slipping through Goro's fingers.
It's reassuring, he thinks, that this café will be around far longer than he will. Though he supposes that's not a very high standard, considering. Goro contemplates making a coffee stain on the counter.
Akira and Goro haven't really spoken to each other since Sakura left, leaving the café under Akira's charge. It's quiet with just the two of them here, without the chatter of the other thieves. It makes Goro feel almost off-kilter, with the same warmth of Leblanc enveloping him, breaking down the jagged ice inside. Goro has been trying to keep his walls up since November, since June, and yet Akira finds a way to melt right through them anyway.
If it were raining there would at least be the telltale patter on the roof, but snow is utterly silent. This is what is so conflicting about it. On nights like these, the quiet is nice, soothing. But on his bad nights.
On his bad nights, the silence makes him want to rip his hair out. Nights where he thinks about his victims and the looks on their faces as he shot them dead.
Akira sets a mug down in front of him. Goro looks and finds his own image staring back at him in its dark brown contents. As he picks it up he tilts it just slightly away from him, allowing it to reflect the ceiling instead.
He brings it to his mouth and there's a jolt of surprise when it's sweet, and… not coffee.
“This isn't coffee," he says curtly, setting down the mug of hot chocolate.
Akira smiles. "Akechi, it's nearly ten. I'm not going to serve you your two shots of espresso." Goro looks down at the mug, watches the steam curl and drift and disappear. He puts his hands on either side of the cup (one gloved and one bare), and the heat of it nearly burns. He keeps them pressed there anyway.
Goro watches as Akira rounds the counter. "I thought the customer was always right," he says. Akira pulls out the chair next to him.
"Yeah well, I don't think you've paid for a single drink I've ever made you, so I don't feel too bad." He sits, still smiling his infuriatingly kind Akira smile.
Joker's smile— or rather his smirk— was entirely different. A little condescending, a little self-satisfied, and a little annoying. His Akira smile was understanding, contemplative, and, well, a little annoying.
“I suppose that is true. If I pay for this drink does that mean I can report you to Boss?” Akira’s smile broadens into a grin.
“Oh no, my dear customer, please don't. Haven't you heard? If I serve a bad cup of coffee Sojiro will surely kick me to the curb, and this cup is so bad it isn't even coffee anymore.” Goro stifles a laugh.
“Ah, what motivation. I’d better head to Sakura-san’s post-haste to file a complaint.” Akira lets out a scandalized gasp and Goro takes another sip of his chocolate. It really is quite good, sweet in a way Goro always tries to deny he likes. Being who he is, he shouldn’t like sweet things. The bitterness of black coffee serves as just the smallest punishment.
Akira's gaze slides off of Goro to the door behind him. "Does it usually snow this hard in Tokyo?" he asks, gazing out the window.
"Not typically." He looks out at the snow too. “It doesn't usually get as hot in the summers as this season either." He twists back around to look at Akira. "I suppose you picked a bad year to get probation."
Akira ducks his head with a breath of a laugh as he reaches up to fiddle with his hair. "My bad. I should have picked a fight with Shido next year." Hearing Shido's name still stings a little, knowing all of his choices, all that he did, was for nothing. Joker and his damn Phantom Thieves were the ones to take him down. Goro shouldn't even be surprised. Maybe it still stings a lot.
“Hm, yes. Then maybe you would have allowed me to actually bring my plan to fruition.”
Akira rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh, sure.”
Goro turns his full body to face him. Their knees almost brush together. “Do you believe I would have failed? I could have done it.” He says, glaring at Akira. He is completely unfazed.
“Yeah, yeah. I believe you. You are ‘a ruthless sort of person,’ after all.” Akira says, imitating Sumire’s intonations.
“Hm, well. I am glad Yoshizawa-san was shown my ‘ruthless’ side. I’m damn tired of being a pushover.” Akira smiles at him again, and it’s something in between his Akira and Joker smiles. Goro would describe it as heart-stopping, chest fluttering, and a lot a bit annoying.
“I agree, but you weren't ever a pushover. People liked you because you were serious. You stuck to your guns… ah… metaphorically speaking.”
Goro grins with a hint of the ferocity he only holds when he is Crow. “Well. Literally too.”
By now Goro is nearly done with his hot chocolate. The cup may be half empty, but it is pleasantly warm against his hands nonetheless. The reminder of Goro’s life before now seems to quiet Akira. Only for a few moments though. He shifts to nudge Goro with his shoulder.
"Hurry up and finish your drink. There's something I want to show you." Akira starts to undo the apron's knot at his back.
Goro squints a little. He's been here for a while now. If it was something small Akira could have shown him already. If it was big, why had he waited until today? Did he know? Akira lowers his head as he takes the apron off. It knocks his glasses slightly askew. Goro looks away.
"It's nothing bad, I promise," Akira says, tossing the olive-colored apron into one of the booths and pushing his glasses back into place. "There's just... something I think you should see." He takes his scarf out of his coat pocket, wrinkled and periwinkle.
"Are we going outside for it?" Goro asks, eyeing the scarf. Akira looks confused for a second, before following his gaze down to the scarf and laughing.
"That was meant to be somewhat of a surprise, can't trick the detective prince, now can I?" He fiddles with the tassels at one end. "Yeah, we're going outside, is that okay?" Neither of them mentions that Akira has, in fact, tricked the detective prince.
Goro considers his options. On one hand, the weather is absolutely dreadful. Far into the negatives and a biting windchill, and he only has one glove. On the other hand, Akira asked him to.
He supposes this is what they mean when they talk about the illusion of choice.
"Yes, that's alright. How long will it take to get there?" Goro supposes at least the subways should be warm.
"Not very," is all Akira says, another smile playing across his lips. They're so easy for him to hand out, to give that piece of him away. Goro doesn't smile much.
He finishes the rest of his drink, leaving the dregs at the bottom. Then he stands, pulling his own scarf out from his pocket, except his is neatly folded. He looks at the mug, not sure what to do with it.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll wash it when we get back." Akira waves his arm dismissively, then starts to wrap his scarf around his neck. Goro does the same.
So the cup sits there as the two of them walk out the door, the bell jingling far too loud in the quiet, quiet snowscape they find outside. Akira turns and flips the sign to closed.
"Why does Sakura-san not keep the sign on the inside? Would it not be more efficient?" Goro wonders aloud. Akira pauses with his key in the door.
"Huh. That’s actually not a bad idea. I'll ask Sojiro tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Goro doesn't really want to think about that.
With the door locked and sign flipped, Akira takes Goro by the wrist and leads him down the street, but not toward the station. Instead, he takes a right and a right again, the two of them wandering around Yongen amidst the snow. They don't really talk. There seem to be more comfortable silences between them since Goro came back.
It's damn cold, Goro thinks, especially with his ungloved hand dangling in the air as Akira drags him along. He wriggles his hand out from Akira's grip, but the boy looks back at him nearly offended with a soft "hey," that Goro looks away, and reaches out with his other hand.
Akira lights up and takes it. Goro blinks. He had expected Akira to grab his wrist again, but instead their fingers are intertwined, and Goro feels some damn emotion welling up in his chest that he can't place. It feels an awful lot like resentment. He keeps his hand in Akira's as they walk side by side.
They don't walk for long. Eventually, Akira finds a clearing between the buildings no larger than Leblanc, only the smallest hints of yellowed grass peaking up over the snow, freshly fallen and pre-existing. Goro wonders what they’re doing there, up until Akira flops right down into the snow. Being attached to him at the hand, Goro nearly tips over and yelps in surprise, a fact he will deny if Akira ever tries to bring it up. He straightens, letting go of Akira’s hand.
“What the hell? What are you doing?” Goro’s clear annoyance does nothing to dim the soft smile on Akira’s face, fake glasses protecting him from getting snow in his eyes.
“Lay down with me, Akechi,” he says, and Goro huffs. The cold is already seeping through his limbs, there’s no way he plans on making it worse.
“Absolutely not. Don’t blame me when you get a cold, ever-responsible leader.” He crosses his arms and glares pointedly. If Joker took ill they’d all be royally fucked. Goro may be a formidable Persona-user, and he’s… well, he’s pretty sure the rest of the thieves are as well, but no one leads like Akira. Not that he’d ever say so. Fuck that.
Akira sighs a sigh of Atlas. Of the world, arcana or otherwise, upon his shoulders. “When aren’t you thinking of the Metaverse, Akechi?” It’s a melancholy question, one that Akira seems to already know the answer to.
“Our main objective is to go into the Metaverse. In fact, the whole world is literally fusing with it. I’d say that I think about it pretty often,” Goro says dryly.
“Mm, knew it.” Akira’s glasses are half covered in snow. Goro can barely see his eyes behind them. “You need to take a break.”
It’s Goro’s turn to sigh, in annoyance this time. A puff of white air drifts in front of him, illuminated by the waning moon. “This is stupid, Akira. We’re both going to freeze solid. And then who’d be there to make sure your friends aren’t lulled into being puppets again?” When Akira doesn’t speak, he adds, “what is it you wanted to show me?”
The two of them stay silent a little longer, Goro trying to surreptitiously shiver and chatter his teeth, and Akira laying nearly completely still. Finally, he sniffs, and Goro actually begins to consider forcing him up from the puddle he’s most likely lying in.
“Do you know anything about constellations, Akechi? Or the stars?” Akira’s voice sounds a little thick. Goro doesn’t mention it. He supposes that’s what they’re out here to see.
“Hm, I learned about them a few years ago, maybe around thirteen.” Goro doesn’t mention that it was because he used to sneak out of the window in his foster home to watch the stars dance across the sky, only sometimes blurred by tears in his eyes.
“Really? Tell me about them,” Akira asks, raising his chin to look at Goro from underneath the frames of his glasses.
Goro looks up at the murky sky. There’s not a star in sight. “Well, I can’t exactly point them out to you. Besides, it’s been years. I don’t really remember.”
“Why didn’t you keep learning about them?”
“Because of… everything. I always had so much work to do.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Akira reaches his hands towards the gloomy sky.
“Help me up?” Goro steps forward, grasping his hands and pulling— except Akira is pulling too and Goro stumbles, narrowly avoiding landing right on top of the fucking dumbass on the ground. Annoyance spikes in him, but there’s something else, too. A surprised laugh escapes him.
“You— you idiot,” Goro says, but any venom in the words is overshadowed by his breathless laughter as he lies on his side next to Akira, who turns to face him. They’re still holding hands. “It’s so fucking cold.”
Akira is laughing too, but Goro still can’t see his eyes, so he reaches up and takes his fake glasses, sticking them in his pocket. Behind them, Akira’s eyes are still wet. Goro doesn’t think they’re from the snow. But he’s still laughing, and Goro thinks he’s going to freeze, and his other hand is still in Akira’s and he never wants to let go.
He does, though, roll onto his back so he can get up. This time, Akira lets himself be pulled to his feet as well.
And, suddenly, there’s almost no space between them. Their fingers are just slightly interlaced with each others, and now that Akira is actually standing up straight rather than his usual slouch, Goro realizes that the other is only about two centimeters shorter than himself, and he can finally see Akira clearly for what is maybe the first time ever.
His eyes are a warm grey, as unique as his own maroon, but the color is almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. Tears have frozen on his long, long lashes, and Goro takes just the smallest step forward to get a closer look. They're practically pressed entirely against each other, and the heat of it nearly burns. He keeps himself pressed against Akira anyway.
The snow dusts Akira's dark hair, disappearing into his curls like stars winking out. It's cold, it's so fucking cold that Goro thinks his ears might be frostbitten, but there's ice crystallized on Akira's eyelashes. Just barely a glimmer, disappearing behind each puff of air between them, and Goro thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
Akira’s eyes dart down and Goro knows where he’s looking. One of them, Goro can’t tell which, leans in, and he knows he doesn’t have the strength to stop, do the smart, logical, kind thing.
When was the last time you thought of the stars? Goro thinks as the whole universe stands before him.
Their lips meet, and it’s so soft that Goro feels like he’s burning up inside. Flames roar down his spine, collecting at every point of contact between him and Akira. Their noses are pressed together, so Goro tilts his head just slightly and they slide into place. Lock and key. Two sides of the same coin.
Goro truly has no idea what he’s doing, he’s never kissed anyone before, never even considered the possibility before Akira, before seeing him, shining and triumphant and absolutely beautiful, in the Metaverse.
Akira pulls back just a little, pressing their foreheads together. “Akechi—” he breathes, the sound barely a whisper on Goro’s own lips. “No, can I… can I call you Goro?”
“Mm,” is all he can say, before recapturing Akira’s lips. His free hand, the ungloved one, reaches up and gingerly cups Akira’s face. His thumb gently strokes Akira’s cheek, and Goro thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to contentment.
They only stop kissing when Goro feels wetness on his thumb. He pulls away and has just enough time to see that Akira’s crying (crying— god what has he done?) until he buries his face in Goro’s neck. He can feel the chill of Akira’s nose and the dampness of his tears and his mouth moving; he’s whispering something, something so quiet that Goro’s heart needs to stop beating in his ears for him to hear.
“Goro,” he’s saying, over and over. “Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you again.”
The final shards of ice keeping Goro’s heart intact burn up, and he shatters. He wraps his arms around Akira and squeezes as hard as he can. He feels the boy in his arms shudder and sob. But he does not say anything, cannot, because there is no reassurance. Akira knows, and there isn’t anything Goro can say to make it alright.
So they cling to each other, weather the storm together, until Akira’s tears run dry. The silence that only the snow can afford them whirls around the two, and Goro lifts Akira’s head off his shoulder and presses their foreheads together again. Their white breaths mingle together; they breathe in each other's air; they are one.
“Let’s go home.”
Back at Leblanc, Goro’s mug is still there. Akira walks right by it, though, mumbling something about later. Goro has no objections.
The trains haven’t stopped running yet, but neither brings that up, not when they’re curled up together, limbs tangling, on Akira’s stupidly uncomfortable milk crate bed.
“It’s my birthday this month,” Akira whispers into the darkness.
Goro says nothing. He hadn’t known. In that moment there's such a swell of regret, of melancholy sadness that he forcibly takes his mind off it. He should buy a gift in advance, maybe. Hand it off to one of Akira’s many associates.
Goro hopes the light filtering through the window isn’t enough to see the tears falling from his eyes.
The next morning, Goro leaves before Akira wakes. The mug is still there when he walks out the door again. He buys a gift and entrusts it to Sae with the request to give it to Akira on his birthday.
That night when he returns to Leblanc, the mug is still there.
The night after that, he isn’t around to check.