Chapter Text
📺
ACT I
DETECTIVE PRINCE
Rain had always been terrifying to Goro. Not in the sense that he ever thought he might drown in it or anything. He wasn’t afraid of water, and in fact, found water to be one of the most soothing elements to surround himself with, granted it wasn’t in the form of rain. Simply put, the way rain crashed against the window, it always felt like a million clawing hands, clattering against the glass, trying to break in, trying to steal him away.
On top of that, thunder, which echoed so fiercely in the sky, only added to the terror, as if giving the icy talons an impending voice. Then, there was lighting, not usually precise in its strike, but commonly known to be deadly— the rain’s impartial judgement.
All in all, he hated storms, and so it felt right that something terrible would happen to him on a stormy night.
Goro found her in the same place she always told him to go when she didn’t want him around. Her private version. Behind the shower curtain. Above the overflow of water and red. The bath. He dialed the number. Like she always said to do in case of an emergency. And now, he woke up in a hospital room, apparently having went “berserk” from the news.
His hand was wrapped in bandages. He punched some glass, or something. He didn’t know he had that kind of power. He was ten years old. He was angry. That was putting it mildly.
Still storming.
The hospital door opened. A doctor, a nurse, and a man in a suit and tie walked in. The latter of the three looked soaked to the bone. A puddle formed where he stood, trailing from outside the room. It was almost as if he was made of water.
Goro averted his gaze. His mother always warned him not to stare at strangers, especially the ones she knew. He looked instead at the bag of fluids hanging from a pole. He couldn’t read the words, but the line from the bag led to his arm. He wondered if this was what made his vision so hazy.
After some garbled words were exchanged between the medical staff and the wet man, the staff left. The still-dripping man drug a chair over to Goro’s bedside, eliciting a horrible scraping noise as he did so. He sat rather uncomfortably.
Then, he did something weird. He took Goro’s hand. Like his mother used to do. Then he squeezed— not too hard, but not too soft.
Just like his mother.
And he had his mother’s eyes, too; warm, dark, and crinkling all the same when he smiled. The relieved smile, too, belonged to her.
“Hey, kiddo. My name's Tohru Adachi,” the man said. “I’m your uncle, and, well, it looks like I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”
📺
Drizzling rain greeted Goro on his first night back in Inaba. He’d undertaken the stupid route of travel and driven, knowing it was a small town that didn’t take but a day to circumnavigate on foot. Now he had to deal with the mist and clatter against his windshield and slick roads just salivating for an accident to happen.
“You know, if you slowed down a little bit, you wouldn’t be slipping around like a jalopy trying to find the hole on an eighteen-wheeler. Just goes on for miles and miles, slip-sliding around on the road. Like a slip-and-slide on wheels.”
It didn’t help much that the King of Snark and All Things Annoying was accompanying him on this trip. Didn’t help that Goro didn’t know what the fuck he was saying half the time either.
“I’d absolutely adore it if you explained what that simile was meant to convey,” Goro mustered a tone of politeness.
Akira pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I’m talking about a lemon giving a big rig some sloppy, what else would I be talking about?” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Just a common, everyday occurrence. Two cars having sex, albeit, badly. Happened all the time.
“If you could try not to give me an aneurysm while I try to steer us away from certain death, that would be great,” Goro seethed.
“I think my silence as a teenager stunted my conversational growth, so now I’d prefer to speak as much as I possibly can about as many topics as I possibly can. I’m exploring everything, up to and including car sex education,” Akira informed him.
Just then, they passed the Junes, and honestly that was about it for the level of excitement Inaba had to offer. Inaba wasn’t even Goro’s hometown, just a place he happened to be whisked away to for a couple of his formative years, give or take. He didn’t care to remember.
But Inaba remembered him. Or at least, the letter that he received without a return address did.
Goro thought about the letter again. Just a plain white envelope, nothing to see there. Not even a whiff of invisible ink. Then, inside, was a postcard. The picture was of the Amagi Inn hot springs. Goro never stayed overnight, but he’d been to the springs. They looked like any other hot springs, but the “Greetings from Inaba” made them easy to pinpoint.
And no, there was no message on the postcard. It was just a postcard from Inaba. Hand-delivered.
Who would go through the trouble to hand-deliver a postcard from Inaba unless it was an invitation into an even bigger mystery? Despite his Detective Prince alter ego being just that— an alter ego, and a big fake at that— Goro felt the need to pursue this.
Plus Akira. They were a package deal now.
Apparently, Akira didn’t think Goro could kill his cognitive self. Because, well, Akira thought he wore the pants in the relationship. Naturally. So, Akira could suddenly escape certain death, but Goro couldn’t. Great. Wonderful. He loved being underestimated like that.
So, after all their business with the good Dr. Maruki was done and over with, Goro decided to visit Akira in his hometown of Ise. His mother owned the Cherry Blossom Grand Hotel on a small, nameless island just off the coast of Futami. The main draw was the view it had of Meoto Iwa. Goro thought the setting was just perfect for his surprise visit!
Big mistake!!!
Worst mistake of his life! Now Akira was attached to him at the hip! Soul-sucker! Leech! Vampire! All things wrong, evil, and bad with the world! (Goro loved him unconditionally.)
Even giving Akira a cursory glance was enough for Goro to tamp down all desire to crash the car immediately. He detested Inaba with all his being, and if he ended up on the Channel Nine news, at least it wasn’t the worst channel to end up on.
Goro kept his eyes on the road, trying to focus, trying not to think of all the worst things that could possibly happen in Inaba, just when… yes, one of the worst things that could possibly happen in Inaba happened. Not the worst. But, sirens weren’t great.
Akira leaned over the passenger seat to look out the back window. “You don’t think they recognized the license plate?”
“Not many people driving around Inaba with a license plate from Ise, but seeing as we didn’t get this car until after we got out of jail, I’d say no,” Goro reminded him.
“Also not many people driving a seventies’ Trans Am painted bright-ass gold with red phoenix decals and a fucking “A” for “Akechi” on it,” Akira pointed out. Well, the car absolutely fucked and they had to spend the leftover detective prince money on something.
Goro scanned the area for a place to pull over. He found an empty parking lot in a residential area, although it really wasn’t ideal. Everyone knew everyone in this town, and people were gonna talk. They’d probably talk regardless, but now instead of “a cop pulled over a car by the side of the road— I didn’t see who it was,” it was gonna be “oh yeah I saw that guy Goro Akechi get pulled over in my own driveway! isn’t that neat?” and Goro fumed just thinking about it.
“Why’re we pulling over?” Akira asked, slumping in his seat. “We should give them a runaround, for old times sake.”
Goro put on his loveliest smile. “I don’t know about you, but I sure didn’t enjoy jail when I went, and if you think Tokyo’s prison system was bad, you haven’t seen the shitty little jail cells Inaba has to offer.”
Once the car was slotted in some random person’s driveway, Goro put the car in park and awaited the cop’s arrival. Akira put his chin on the dash like a whipped puppy.
A bright flashlight jarred the two enough to yell, and just barely motivated Goro to roll down his window. He held a gloved hand above his closed eyes, not even able to squint for the light. The incoming rain only served to make the interaction even more uncomfortable.
“Can I help you, officer?” Goro asked in his showbiz voice—that is to say, sickeningly sweet, like a school boy obsessed with becoming the teacher’s pet on day one.
The flashlight was turned off, revealing a young, yet grizzled face beneath his cap and all the rain. The man grunted. “Where are you headed tonight?” His voice was gravely, tired, and only slightly intimidating.
Goro swallowed. He didn’t know what about the man made him suddenly nervous. “Amagi Inn. We have reservations.”
“How long?”
“A week.”
“Better make it a month.”
“Excuse me?”
The man grunted again. He scratched at what thin little lines of mustache he had. “I said you better make it a month. You’re not gonna solve this mystery in less than a week. What, do you think you’re a big hotshot detective now that you hit primetime? Remember who came first.”
Goro wished his seat could just envelop him now. His desire to interact with this world slipped away from him, cold and dead now. If there was any sort of mercy left in this cruel joke called life, it would rob him of his soul, leaving him without emotion because right now he was cringing so hard, clenching his jaw to the point that it might shatter into a million pieces. At least if he left this car jawless he would never be able to speak again—never have to interact with anyone on a conversational level ever again. Just wishful thinking.
No, none of that would happen. Instead, he had to face the most annoying person in the world besides Akira Kurusu. That person was Naoto Shirogane, the original, mint condition detective prince who came packaged with an ego that eclipsed the whole solar system.
Well, that was then. This was now, and Goro didn’t remember leaving him so scraggly. His collar was buttoned wrong, leaving a shabby and wrinkled look to his uniform. His gaudy-ass yellow tie hung below the second button, sloppy. His staple hat looked about the same, as uninteresting as ever, but maybe bearing a few stitching scars. Didn’t look like he’d had a good haircut in a while—looked like that dark blue hair was pulled back in a ratty ponytail. And god, that five o’ clock shadow. Goro wanted to get out of the car and just shake the hell out of him.
“Shirogane-san, my apologies for not recognizing you, but—“
“I look like shit.” Naoto shrugged it off. He combed a hand under his hat. “I know. I’ve been told,” he said off into the distance.
Akira practically leaned over Goro to extend a hand. “I’m Akira Kurusu. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you,” he said boldly.
Naoto hesitantly took his hand. “Naoto Shirogane. Former detective prince. Pleasure.”
Goro pushed Akira back with a hand to his face. “If you don’t mind my asking, Shirogane-san, what’s the meaning of all this?”
“You can cut the bullshit honorifics out just because we’re in front of your boyfriend. Maybe he buys the polite do-no-wrong boy-next-door you sell on television, but I don’t,” Naoto grumbled. “Anyway, you’re lucky I found you and not anyone else on the squad. Things have gotten… testy lately. Everyone’s on edge.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“We’ve had a few missing persons cases lately. I don’t have any leads except this.” Naoto pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Goro took it with mild confusion. “Take a look at this. If it piques your interest, I implore you to follow me.”
Naoto took his leave (thank fucking god.), but notably lingered in his car, waiting on Goro’s next action. Goro hated to give into these bullshit detective antics. But, that was why he was there in the first place. If life was gonna give this dog a bone, he might as well have ran all the way home with it. Granted, home was full of other dogs he despised.
The letter wasn’t unlike the one Goro received. It was also blank and without the citrus scent of invisible ink. He opened it with a swift movement of his index. The same Amagi Inn hot springs postcard was revealed.
However, a certain discrepancy caught his eye. It was a Calling Card. The cut and paste letters on the back… they spelled a message that didn't quite seem to be for Naoto:
“Wel C o me HOME
W a T C H y O u R BAC k”
📺
A strange sort of fog set into the city. It was largely dispelled with the inescapable amount of street lamps and headlights. Everywhere you looked, there was a light. Still, the fog lingered like a pesky recurring thought one could never be rid of. Goro had a few of those running around at the moment.
Now, he sat in a car. Unclear who’s car. The man to his right… he was the man from last night. Was it last night? Could’ve been longer. At least he wasn’t drenched anymore. Made him easier to look at.
“You’re finally awake, huh? Man they really knocked you out last night,” he said with the bare minimum of a chuckle.
“Where’s mom?” Goro croaked out. His voice sounded a lot harsher than he’d expected.
The man looked to almost visibly sweat. “Let’s turn on the radio.”
Some weird poppy tune came out of the car speakers. It was a little garbled, being a weak station.
So it was true then. Everything that happened last night was real. That meant this man was his uncle, come to whisk him away to some new life that Goro didn’t ask for.
He knew what life and death were, but was loathe to think they might ever affect him in any way. It had always been just him and his mom. He trusted her. He trusted her not to do anything stupid. He knew stranger danger. He knew she knew stranger danger. He always thought… well, if something were to happen, it would be a stranger’s fault. And really, who’s to say that it wasn’t, but… he just never expected her to sully the one place she’d taught him to always seek solace and shelter.
“Hey, kiddo, do you remember who I am?”
Goro stared up at him, genuinely trying to remember.
“That’s ok. You were pretty sedated. How’s your hand?”
His hand? It was fine. All bandaged, but fine. He didn’t feel like unwrapping it to see what nasty wound or scar laid underneath.
“Well, I guess I’ll just introduce myself again. I’m Tohru Adachi. I’m your uncle— your mom’s brother.” Tohru smiled gently.
“Our family name is Akechi,” Goro corrected him.
Tohru let out a long sigh. “She… um… it’s really hard to talk about, but she didn’t get along very well with our parents. They sent us to a lot of cram schools, preparing us for college and a good life, y’know. She was my older sister, and… god, she had a rebellious streak. Just up and left the house one night and changed her name. ‘Akechi,' because it’s ‘catchy.’ She’d talked about doing it for years. I just… I was a few years older than you are now… about thirteen. I just didn’t expect to see her gone like that. No trace of Miyu Adachi left.”
Goro furrowed his brow. “Didn’t you ever try to find her?”
“Yeah. I got into police work for just that. Oh, did I forget to mention? I’m a detective,” Tohru said with a dash of pride. “We also get to carry around guns, which is cool.”
“Can I see one?” Goro found himself smiling now, trying to find the mentioned weapon. He’d never seen one up close, and the danger involved in handling it made it so cool. (If he could hold one for even a second he’d probably be, like, the coolest ten year old ever.)
“When we get home, yeah. Anyway, I did manage to find her a couple years back. I wanted to meet you, but she said you were at the bathhouse. I tried not to talk about our parents. I knew it’d be a sore spot. We made small talk about our lives, but I felt like I was constantly stepping on eggshells. I knew what she was doing, of course, but—“ Tohru’s eyes widened “—oh geez, wait sorry, god you probably didn’t know—“
“I knew. It’s ok,” Goro assured him.
Tohru scratched at his temple. “Um, well, anyway… we left on mildly disgruntled terms. She was waiting on a client. I told her my door was always open. But, I forgot just how headstrong Mimi-chan— oh, uh, Miyu— was. She was really determined to make it on her own. It was admirable, in a way.”
Goro bit his lip. He didn’t really like being talked at. There wasn’t much he could provide to this conversation. He knew who his mom was. “Was.” When did it become “was”…
“So um. Did you know she originally wanted to be an idol? That’s why she moved out at eighteen. She was going to leave a couple years before then, but she got thwarted by the neighbor boy. He was kind of a snitch and a suck-up. She was furious when our dad picked her up out of Shinjuku. She didn’t come out of her bedroom for two weeks. Not even for school.” Tohru had a small laugh at that. “But us? We were thick as thieves. She let me in through the window. We watched Lieutenant Luna a lot. You know, about the girl who gets magical powers and has a talking cat?”
“We watched reruns sometimes…” Goro remembered. Nothing ever seemed to be wrong back then.
“Do you watch a lot of anime?” Tohru asked quickly, voice cracking in the process. It was too far of a jump in conversation. Goro knew he was desperate to change the subject.
“Not really,” Goro answered. “I liked Lieutenant Luna. I like some movies like Empress Makoto… the one about the woman who’s friends with the wolf?”
“I can’t say I’ve seen it.”
Goro almost jumped out of his seat. “What! You’ve never seen Empress Makoto? It’s a cinematic masterpiece!”
“How do you even know what a cinematic masterpiece is?” Tohru burst out laughing.
“That’s what mom always says! ‘A cinematic masterpiece’! Empress Makoto is the best film of all time!”
“We’ll just have to watch it and see, then. I know some real cinematic masterpieces you’ve probably never even heard of. Let’s have a movie night. Make it weekly or something,” Tohru suggested. “Sound alright?”
Goro slinked back in his seat. Wow. He really almost jumped onto that train of emotion. Something deep and melancholy in him kept his feet firmly planted on the ground though, not yet willing to let him go. It made him want to curl up into a ball. He hated to think of what would happen if he never could get off the ground and take that leap of faith.
But something… something… something about this man didn’t sit right with Goro. He expected him to be crying, sobbing over the loss of his sister. They were close. They sounded close, at least. That discrepancy put a barrier between them. Goro just couldn’t fathom why he seemed to be trying so hard to rush past this when it just happened yesterday.
Then, Tohru looked down at Goro, waiting for a response to the question he’d asked a minute ago. There, in the desperation for an answer, Goro noticed the red and puffy eyelids, noticed the waver to his warm brown eyes, as if any further line of questioning would break the facade. Goro didn’t know if he wanted Tohru to cry in front of him. He didn’t know if he himself felt comfortable crying in front of Tohru.
Goro clasped his hands and averted his gaze. He kicked his legs absentmindedly. “Movie night sounds alright,” he finally answered, despondent as his tone was.
“And we’ll start with Empress Makoto, then?”
Goro smiled small.
📺
Goro felt murderous being back here. That was the general Inaba mood, of course, but being at his childhood home was even worse. Naoto knew what he was doing when he parked in the driveway. He knew what he was provoking in Goro. And if not for Akira being in the passenger seat, Goro might’ve just drove the whole car through the wall, backed out, and headed home to Ise.
Rain fell on the roof of the car like a million little kids banging on pots and pans right above his ears. Goro suddenly felt claustrophobic. He wanted Naoto to make the first move and get out of the cop car, but Naoto was a sitting duck for no good reason.
The first one to exit the car ended up being Akira. He was the king of being unable to sit still. They stopped at least fifteen times over the whole six hour drive. Goro didn’t expect Akira to be the one to stretch his legs every time they entered a new prefecture. He really expected it to be Morgana. He had like… four whole legs to stretch.
Speaking of the cat, he just snoozed in the backseat. He was buckled up in a carseat like a baby person and everything. Such a weird cat. He’d been sleeping for almost half the trip. Thank the good fucking lord, too. Akira could talk. Morgana could give speeches.
Goro eventually followed Akira out of the car, into the drizzling rain. The shelter of an umbrella suddenly appeared overhead—provided by Naoto Shirogane, of course.
Akira came out from around the back of the house, shuffling toward them with his hands in his pockets. “Perimeter looks good. Clearer than a bell!” he announced.
“Good.” Naoto looked up at Goro. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made arrangements for you to stay here. You can stay as long as you like, no need to pay bills or anything, I’ll have that covered. I figured it’s better than the Amagi Inn. More space and time to think about it all.”
Of course he FUCKING minded. But he wasn’t about to chew Naoto out in front of Akira. Naoto wouldn’t have pulled this shit on a normal day. He might’ve tried to lead Goro into it with some other proposal like a carrot on a stick, but the bastard had to know Goro would go along with almost anything as long as Akira was there. And, in all fairness, this option probably was more palatable to Akira than staying in some cramped room at the inn. If Goro had lived in an attic for a couple years, he too would yearn for more space.
Didn’t change the fact that this was his childhood home, and everything was awful here. Goro hated that sliding door. Made an awful, jarring racket every time his uncle came home. Goro hated that roof. He fell off of it once trying to pretend he was an anime character. Goro hated their worthless little lawn. Nothing ever grew there except weeds that he had to pluck out in the summer all by himself because his uncle was barely ever home. He hated it. Detested it. Loathed it. Worst years of his life.
Exactly who the hell did Naoto think he was, thrusting this shithole back into Goro’s life? Naoto was smart. There was an underlying motive here. Goro wished he could figure out what the shit it was.
Goro nodded in response to Naoto’s line of reasoning. They walked up to the front door, and as he fished for his keys, Naoto handed the umbrella off to Goro who handed it off to Akira. Naoto and Goro walked in while Akira fetched Morgana.
He remembered the house well. Tatami flooring, beige walls, a sliding door in the back… A lot of Inaba homes were pretty cookie cutter. It was one story, one bed, one bath. They didn’t have enough money to buy a house with two bedrooms. Goro gave a cursory glance to the fold-out couch where he used to sleep. It was a disgrace.
Naoto leaned against the kitchen sink. The kitchen and living room were pretty much one in the same. The difference between tile and tatami were the only things separating them. Goro sat on top of the kitchen island across from Naoto. He swung his legs. Old habit.
“Nothing’s changed,” Naoto noted.
“Nope, nothing at all,” Goro agreed with a more bitter tone.
“Hard to believe I found you all those years ago… just standing here. Making tiramisu like nothing had even happened,” Naoto snickered. He shook his head.
“I was a good cook,” Goro said, taking offense to the way Naoto had said it in such disbelief.
“I know,” Naoto murmured, fingers touching his lips and eyes flicking downward.
Goro blushed. He pulled at a split end.
Naoto seemed to be getting some mild enjoyment out of that, smirking like he’d just hit the lottery. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal, being back here. You’ve got good company though, it seems.”
“Akira is… well, he’s Akira. I’m not sure exactly how to describe him,” Goro said with all the fondness he could muster.
Speak of the devil… the door slid open like the crack of a whip. God, how Goro hated that sound.
Akira struggled in with a suitcase in each hand and two overnight bags per arm. Morgana scampered in behind him and promptly hopped onto the couch to continue his slumber. Goro moved to help Akira unload the baggage in the living room. At least they wouldn’t have to make a return trip in the rain.
“Are you all hungry?” Naoto asked. “I sort of anticipated you coming so…”
He opened the fridge door to reveal groceries. Goro wasn’t sure how fresh they were though. Judging by the expiration date on the milk, they’d been bought at least a week ago. It was a detail someone like Akira, although quick to pick up on things, might not have noticed. Naoto taught Goro all he knew though. Or at least, enough to sell to television networks. His grandfather did the all the heavy lifting when it came to all the legal knowledge.
“How long have you been waiting on me?” Goro asked. He didn’t mean to sound so concerned about it, though.
“I got the postcard last week. I recognized the copy pasted lettering as a reference to the Phantom Thieves’ Calling Cards. They were all over national television at some point, if you recall. The Amagi Inn hot springs made me think back to some experiences you’d told me about before, and 'welcome home' seemed more befitting of you than me. I've been here since... well, you know. Forever, feels like. I struggle to escape Inaba sometimes.” Naoto shrugged. He looked over his shoulder. “When did you get yours?”
Goro rested his chin on his clasped fingers. “About a week ago. I really mulled over whether or not to come. I decided, finally, that I was bored and this looked like it could take up at least a few good days of my time.”
“I guess whoever sent these really wanted us to meet back up.” Naoto slipped out a cigarette from behind his ear. “So, do you feel up for cooking tonight?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Do we have any ingredients for coffee and curry? I could make some.” Akira piped up from the living room. He had been rummaging through the overnight bags for phone chargers and other small but important items.
Naoto stood back from the fridge. He tipped his cap. “Just got what I thought we might need.”
Goro nudged him aside to give more than a cursory glance to the refrigerator. He glared up at Naoto. “The only things here are ingredients to make a cake. And you put a bag of sugar in the fridge?” Goro asked frantically, holding up the evidence.
“I don’t cook,” was all Naoto had to offer. He leaned against the side of the fridge and held his cigarette between his fingers as if he might light it anytime soon. “Might as well make a cake, though.”
The kitchen jarred as Goro slammed the fridge door shut. “No—“ He paused to scowl at Naoto. “—we are making a trip to Junes.”
“At this hour?” Naoto grumbled.
“Yeah, at this hour!” Goro yelled.
“Guys, come on.” Akira inserted himself into the altercation because of course he had to. Always had to be the hero. “Let’s not fight. Also, it is pouring out there, Goro. We barely made it here,” he reasoned, gesturing to the general area where the cars would be parked outside.
“What do you suppose we do then?” Goro leaned back against the fridge, arms crossed and awaiting a golden response from Akira.
“With what we have, we could make eggs,” Akira proposed. “I brought the rice cooker and some grain in one of the overnight bags. So it won’t be too bad of a dinner, even if it is curry-less. We can go grocery shopping tomorrow and make curry tomorrow night. And in-between, you can show me around Inaba.”
Goro moved to the sink to wash his hands. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” Naoto grunted.
“No, it feels like the first step to putting down roots. Talking about doing domestic stuff like that… and expecting me to grin and bear it?” Goro had to laugh.
“No one’s asking you to grin and bear anything. And we’re not staying here forever.” Akira opened the fridge and removed the egg carton. He set it on the counter. “We still have the penthouse back in Ise,” he reminded Goro with a softness unbecoming of him.
Naoto moved between them to get to the pan beneath the stovetop counter. He set it on the biggest burner and turned the heat all the way up. Goro promptly smacked his hand away and turned the heat back off.
“I am not going to Junes to get a pan if you burn this one up,” Goro muttered.
“It’s called preheating isn’t it?” Naoto protested.
“Have to have oil or butter first,” Akira pointed out as he walked across the room. He fished out the rice cooker and grain and brought them back to the kitchen.
“Maybe I should just leave you two to this, then,” Naoto said, stepping out of the kitchen with his hands up.
“Actually you can just leave it to me,” Akira offered. “I haven’t gotten to cook for Goro since the twenty-second of January, twenty-nineteen.”
Akira mindlessly hummed as he plugged in the rice cooker. Naoto stared after him.
“What happened on the twenty-second of January in twenty-nineteen?” Naoto inquired.
“Our Helliversary. He forgot to de-vein the shrimp,” Goro explained and felt the pain start to rush back to him all at once.
Akira pushed his glasses up with a mischievous smile. “Go catch up. I’ll have it all done in an hour.”
Naoto nodded his head toward the door. “I think I can survive eggs and rice. Come on.”
Before following him out, Goro gave a look of hesitation to Akira. There was nothing assuring behind those glasses that were already fogging up from standing too close to the rice cooker.
“Those eggs better be ‘egg’cellent,” Goro warned Akira with a serious finger point.
While Akira stared after him, trying to find some long-winded response to that groaner, an egg rolled off the counter and onto the floor. Goddamnit.
At least he didn’t have to devein any shrimp this time.
📺
The torrent just didn’t seem to end. It started to look like the gods were just taking buckets of water and pouring them over the clouds. Thankfully, there was some shelter in a small jutting out of the roof over the door. Not so thankfully, Naoto’s smoking made it hard to breathe in that little space. Somehow smelled simultaneously like cedar, the back of a strip joint, and twenty years of bad lungs.
Goro shoved his hands in his pockets, not sure what else he could do with them except slap the cigarette out of Naoto’s mouth. And that would be… uncouth. Also Naoto would probably shoot him in retaliation.
Smoke seeped from Naoto’s lips after a long drag. Goro wondered when this had even started, and if it was perhaps some requirement in being a small town detective.
Naoto stared down the storm, unfazed. This detective prince had long outgrown the title. Goro felt it shrinking on himself as well.
“We’re getting kind of old for mysteries, you know,” Goro spoke up.
“Last I checked, we’re twenty-six and twenty-three, respectfully. We’re hardly far from spring chickens. If it makes you feel any better though, I’ve got a new prodigy,” Naoto confessed.
“Oh, I was wondering when you’d drop that bombshell.” Goro smiled wide. “Who’s the new prince?”
“Princess. But, she’s not going the television route unlike you,” Naoto said, as if there were some superiority, some nobility in this choice.
“You had a television spot once upon a time yourself, Mr. High and Mighty,” Goro reminded him.
“I ran around Tokyo for about a year and sometimes people would stop me to ask questions. Hardly counts compared to your four years in the limelight.” Naoto took a long drag and exhaled the biggest puff of smoke Goro had ever seen. Like it was a contest that Goro wasn’t interested in competing in.
Goro raised a brow. He felt like his last nerve had been snapped. “Don’t lie. You watched every interview,” he accused Naoto.
“Maybe so.” Naoto stomped out his cigarette. He slipped another from a pack beneath his cap and lit it. “At any rate… who do you think sent those cards?”
“I can’t advise on this case yet. There really aren’t many facts yet. The message was kind of vague. ‘Watch your back,’ it’s something anyone could say. 'Welcome home,' on the other hand... I'm sure there's some target, but it's still to vague when considering the sender.”
Naoto readjusted his cap. “You’ll have to stop me from jumping to conclusions, Goro. I’m already predicting how this will end. It can’t be a coincidence that someone invited you back here. If it’s not me, Goro… then…”
“You’re right, Naoto,” Goro said in the nicest way possible (which, for him, just meant a higher pitch that could rival a soprano), “Looks like I am going to have to stop you from jumping to conclusions. I don’t want to hear a single fucking word about that man for the rest of my stay here.”
The cigarette nearly fell out of Naoto’s mouth as he gaped at Goro. He quickly recomposed himself. “Surely you anticipated—“
“Surely you anticipated shutting the fuck up!” Goro really could’ve broken glass at this point.
Silence hit them like a freight train full of bricks. It took a long time to lift the train crossing sign. Long enough for Naoto to smoke yet another cigarette and toss it out into the storm.
“Dinner’s going to be awkward,” Naoto grumbled, dusting his hands of the cigarette.
“Only if you make it awkward,” Goro warned, as peachy as could be.
Then, Naoto got that shifty look in his eyes. Goro had seen it all too often. It was one of the reasons he had grown out his hair during his stay at the Shirogane mansion.
Somehow, Naoto still managed to dart his hand and reach through Goro’s locks to find his earlobe, and he dragged him back into the house. This should not have been possible, given Goro’s nearly twenty centimeters on Naoto, and yet, through sheer willpower.
What an annoying little manlet. Honestly.
📺
When they reached the Tokyo apartment, Goro wondered if it was too late to emancipate himself from the situation he found himself in. If he wanted, couldn’t he simply walk off, down the road, and disappear into an alleyway, never to be seen again? Would Tohru, or anyone else for that matter, ever even miss him? Or would he just fade into non-existence? Never to be acknowledged?
If he fell from the rafters, he had a pretty good chance of survival. Sure, his bones would likely be pretty broken, but he could crawl away and maybe live in the sewers for a couple years. Or, if he climbed to the rooftop, he could live there and learn from the crows. Maybe a few years down the line he’d fly far from Tokyo and descend upon some unknown territory, all for himself.
For only having known Tohru for a few hours at best, he didn’t seem to be a bad person. But Goro knew his goal for the next few years would be trying to fill the hole Goro’s mother left. And for all his ten years of wisdom, Goro knew this wouldn’t be possible, so it was better to save Tohru from the pain of getting disappointed when he figured out the task was too tall for him to accomplish.
And just when Goro got the guts to turn heel and make a mad dash for it, Tohru gave him an easygoing smile and a light punch to the shoulder. It was nauseating. It was unbearable. He hated Tohru for making him feel like he belonged there. Because he didn’t. He was a square peg standing above a triangular hole.
The fog did not follow them into the apartment. Instead, a suffocating miasma of bad feelings snaked its way around the entry, threatening to tear away at what little hope for a peaceful future laid embedded in the walls.
Tohru flipped on the lights and set his keys on the kitchen counter. He rested there for a moment, deservedly, having spent countless hours in the hospital just making sure Goro was alright.
Goro set his things down in the living room area. A breakfast nook separated it from the kitchen.
As a whole, the apartment appeared much bigger on the inside. That didn’t make it particularly inviting. His mother’s apartment had nice paper walls and tatami flooring. Cold, grey walls and surgically clean white carpet made up this apartment. Barely any natural light came in through the vertically slatted living room windows. Sparse furniture occupied the room—that is, one black couch, two end tables that each held a lamp, and a coffee table. A couple chairs faced the breakfast nook, likely to preserve a flow of conversation in case of roommates. The television in the corner was the only appealing thing here.
Felt like a jail.
“We’ll unpack everything in the morning,” Tohru announced. “I brought some blankets out of storage for you. All washed and dried of course. I’ll get the couch set up for you.”
Goro took a seat at the circle table in the breakfast nook. It looked to be more comfortable. It was better lit, with a surprisingly well-placed skylight. There were bamboo-patterned cushions in wicker chairs around the circle table. Overall, the presence was more inviting here than the living room. Goro wondered if he could put a futon here.
After unfolding the couch, Tohru looked over his shoulder. He chuckled slightly. “Do you like the breakfast nook?”
“It’s nice,” Goro mumbled, swinging his legs. The chairs were too tall for his feet to reach the ground.
“We’ll be eating there every morning and evening. I hope you’re not too used to the traditional way.” Tohru moved toward the closet. He nearly collapsed under the blankets he pulled from the top shelf. To show he was alright, he grinned at Goro. “Of course, when winter comes, we’re absolutely breaking out the kotatsu.”
“Well, December should hurry up!” Goro exclaimed.
“Gotta agree with you there,” Tohru laughed.
He pretended to wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead and took a seat on the far end of the pulled-out couch. He stretched over toward the end table to grab the television remote. A few channels flashed on the small screen until Tohru finally settled on an anime.
Like a stray cat warming up to a kind stranger, Goro made his approach toward Tohru. He sat on the other end of the couch, knees pulled up to his chin. With a quick few looks, Goro studied Tohru’s expression. It never appeared to change from this odd sort of mild contentedness.
[On the tv screen, a giant mech heaved and tossed a demonic figure through a building. Its frame shuddered, breathing heavily as if something organic laid beneath its shell. Despite its humanoid figure, it was white with black striping. Jagged horns jutted out of its head along with three long braids. It had no face, yet opened its mouth to scream into the endless blue sky—a piercing heartfelt cry of victory.
And then, a transition. A girl—maybe she was Goro’s age—was piloting the mech the whole time!
"Tango at your own risk!" she yelled at her defeated enemy.]
Goro barely recognized that he was leaning forward as if to get closer to the tv. He sat back on his heels, letting the images on the screen wash over him. Even though the show was focusing on the girl now, all he could think about was that robot… the feeling, the fluidity, the vigor of its motion… so cool.
Tohru smiled at him knowingly. “Pretty sweet, huh? This is Novel Gospel Revelation. One of the ‘cinematic masterpieces’ Miyu probably never told you about.”
“Can we keep watching?” Goro practically vibrated with excitement. Wait, no he didn’t. He was cool. He was totally cool about it. The show was like, whatever. (It was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.)
“Looks like it’ll be a marathon of reruns,” Tohru said, checking the channel guide. “This is a pretty early episode, so you didn’t miss much. Let me give you the rundown of the series.
“So… it starts with a lonely kid…”
📺
Dinner didn’t end up being as awkward as Goro had feared. Otherwise, Goro might have seriously considered repacking everything, grabbing Akira and Morgana and driving right on back to Ise at a 100 miles per hour, never once looking back.
Akira managed to take over the conversation as soon as the detectives re-entered the house. All bad feelings managed to dissipate as the savory scent of thoroughly fried eggs and well-cooked rice pervaded the air.
They steered away from childhood stories. There wasn’t much that Akira didn’t know about Goro at this point, and Naoto knew well enough not to bring it up anyway. They did at least speak about some high school experiences. Goro had no idea about Naoto’s stint as a keyboardist. It was cute though. Naoto thoroughly enjoyed Akira's retelling of the takoyaki incident during Shujin’s culture festival. Goro didn't find it as funny as the rest of the table did.
At the end of the night, Naoto thanked the two for a relatively peaceful and well-made dinner. Goro genuinely hoped he got home alright, and made him exchange numbers and promise to text as soon as he did. Upon receiving the text, Goro managed to settle down on the pull-out couch with Akira.
The CRT television illuminated the otherwise dark room. Different programs flashed as Akira, the woefully indecisive, switched back and forth between all of maybe twenty Inaba cable stations. Goro distracted himself by adjusting their blanket. Had to make sure they were equal, after all.
They were relatively separate above the blanket, but had their legs wrapped around each other beneath. Goro wasn’t sure how comfortable he was playing footsie with Akira while Morgana slept between them, curled in the folds of their blanket. Annoyed by Goro’s constant moving of the blanket, Morgana scampered off in search of another bed.
Now they were alone together. Goro felt he could finally settle down now. He turned over on his side, pressing his forehead against Akira’s arm. Goro watched Akira’s chest rise and fall. He held his breath, waiting for the next fall. He couldn’t sleep until their breathing fell into sync. It was a need, rather than a desire to be close, and closer. Their synergy became a chorus of the same note, sung in different bodies. And Goro might have drifted off if not for
“Hey, this guy kinda looks like your persona!” Akira exclaimed, moving forward to point.
Goro rose up on one arm, groggily rubbing his eyes. Seemed Akira had finally settled on a channel and he was right. It did look almost exactly like his persona… white body with black striping, two long horns, braids… and it was the second Spel unit from Novel Gospel Revelation.
He hadn’t thought about the anime in years, but he supposed it had to be somewhere in there for Loki to have taken after Spel Unit 02. Novel Gospel was probably one of the only shows he’d ever gotten a box set for. He wasn’t even sure why he’d adored it as a kid. The main character didn’t appeal to him, so much as his feisty love interest, Osaka Canaveral, who commanded Spel Unit 02. The episode showing just so happened to be her introduction.
“Don’t change the channel,” Goro said through a yawn.
“You sound tired,” Akira chuckled.
“I’m not.”
Defiant eyes fixed on the screen, Goro blindly buried his cheek into Akira’s chest. Akira not-so-subtly snaked his arm around Goro’s shoulder, allowing Goro room to lay his arm over Akira’s lap. He made a quick grab for the remote for safe keeping.
“You know… I actually cosplayed as Aki Dedari once,” Akira said offhandedly.
“What?” Goro smiled.
He couldn’t help but grin at the idea of Akira being the main character. If someone approached Akira with the job of fighting demons using giant mechs… he’d probably be pretty gung-ho about it. Knowing Akira though, he’d probably abandon the idea of fighting demons pretty quickly and start a Godzilla reenactment for the hell of it.
Akira ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it was a pretty alright convention. I think that was the one where I met Risette.”
“How has this never come up?” Goro questioned.
Akira shrugged. “I don’t normally think about Novel Gospel Revelation. It was like… a really short phase. Not even in my top ten.”
“You have terrible taste.”
“Oh probably. Anyway, I did the scene where he’s just… uh… sitting in the train.”
“What do you mean you did the scene where he’s sitting in the train? How did you get the seat?”
“I stole a seat out of a train. There’s not… a lot to do in Ise.”
“Our lives up to this point have been pretty theftless.”
“Well. You’re a lot to do in Ise,” Akira chuckled.
Goro pulled at the blanket, a rush of excitement hitting him unexpectedly. “Shut up,” he muttered.
“I mean it,” Akira said with a smirk.
“You’d do well to save that smirk for after Revelation’s off,” Goro advised.
Akira considered it for some time. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he conceded.
A couple hours after Akira started snoring, Goro found himself fighting the sleeping bug. He just wanted to get through one more episode in the Novel Gospel marathon. He hoped he could’ve made it through all the way to the end, plus the movie, Resolution of Revelation. Didn’t appear feasible anymore though.
[Osaka smirked behind the protection of Spel Unit 02. The unit had its gun pointed at the seventh demon. The demon shuddered.
“It’ll be over soon. Once the trigger is pulled, there’s no going back. Since I’m nice, I’ll give you the count of three to contemplate your life choices,” Osaka monologued.
The demon uttered a garbled word.
“One—”
Then, a flash of light, and Aki crashed down onto the demon in Spel Unit 01, having returned from another timeline. Season two had gotten weird. It was sort of hard to watch.]
Rain continued its racket upon the windows, smacking like open palms against the glass. Goro dreaded the heavy fog that would soon set in. Thinking about it almost made it hard to focus on the television screen. It began to blur. Goro rubbed his eyes, wondering if it was just his fatigue.
Static followed the blur until the screen finally drowned in the noise, original image indeterminable. But if Goro squinted… just barely… a figure… a shadow of some sort ambled around. It was too blurry, too distant to make out.
Goro laid back, barely aware that he’d been leaning forward and straining his eyes to see the screen. There was no way around it. Everything that could go wrong in Inaba had officially gone wrong.
Though he never was one to get nervous, suddenly, Goro found himself clammy and cold. His eyes trailed down to Akira, whose arm was firmly wrapped around Goro’s hips beneath the blanket. If ever they came unlatched, Goro might either go catatonic or detonate. He shoved himself under the blanket with a quickness. His arm held steady onto Akira— tight —as tightly as he could ever hold on. If ever they came unlatched, and if ever he took the route of detonation, he might just rain hell upon Inaba. He really might.
That’s what terrified him. That’s what had terrified him most about coming back. But he supposed it was only ever inevitable.
The Midnight Channel had been renewed for another season.