Chapter Text
If the pain hadn’t struck you already, it really appears like uninvited company the next morning.
A cluster behind your right temple pulsates so much that you can barely open your eyes. Your bones have accumulated extra heaviness like ankle weights are attached to each limb. Your lower back aches dully and consistently like a bruise you’ve pressed on.
You feel as if you’ve been hit by a truck in your sleep, reduced to roadkill in these guest bedroom sheets.
You unconsciously moan in pain as you try to stretch. A few joints crack in response, but there is no relief, not even a placebo of ease.
You realize with embarrassment that you’re not alone when Akira garbles from beside you, “What’s wrong?”
“Everything hurts,” you manage, nearly whimpering the words.
It requires massive effort to roll onto your side – first your legs, then your stiff hips, arms, head – and reach blindly for Takemi’s pain medication on the nightstand as if it’s a blaring alarm clock.
You don’t need to open your eyes to pour out two pills and swallow them down, without water.
You whine into your pillow, a steady throb circulating your limbs and back.
You regretfully register that you’ve awakened the whole room – Nao stretches on the floor, Morgana patters atop the pillow you’re resting on, and Akira grunts himself to a seat on the edge of the bed.
Akira uses the bathroom and returns with a sleepy, cautious eye down at you in the covers.
Now that you’re paying attention, you notice him limping and can tell his right leg is injured.
“What hurts?” he asks, voice rough and quiet. If you weren’t so distracted, you would swoon.
“Almost everything,” you mumble against the pillow. “Maybe I slept wrong…”
“You need medicine?”
“I already took some.”
He nods and yawns before crawling back into the space beside you.
You feel frail like a child home from school with a head cold, like just enough pressure will break your hollow bird bones limb from limb.
But you have enough strength to resist Akira’s attempt to pull you toward him.
“I need to take Nao outside,” you say sympathetically.
“Will you be okay?” His eyes are barely open.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
You’ve seen Akira tired, but never this tired. You forget that he’s not a morning person.
You almost instinctively kiss his cheek, but you stop yourself in time. You wriggle free from the blankets.
It takes you a few minutes to pull yourself up from the bed. Akira falls back asleep, so you thankfully feel less pressure to put on a front.
You can feel the muscles pulsing as they contract with each limp to the bedroom door. You realize that the stairs are going to be a nightmare and abruptly long for your tiny, stairless flat.
Nao speeds down the stairs and waits for you at the bottom as you cling to the railing, descending one step at a time.
You lean against the screen door and take deep breaths until Nao returns five minutes later.
You let him back inside and then collapse on the couch, managing to pull a blanket onto your body during your fall.
Your eyes squeeze shut and you take in the early morning silence, like you’re the only one awake and sentient in all of Japan.
Your head pounds. You imagine the angry redness of the blood vessels constricting behind your right eye.
There’s nothing you can do except wait for the medication to kick in.
You wake up to Ann discovering your corpse-like placement on her couch.
She leans over you and her blonde hair falls over her shoulders and toward you. The ends look undamaged and you don’t see a single split end.
Your head no longer hurts, though your left wrist and legs still produce a muted ache.
“How long have you been down here?” she asks in a frantic voice. She rubs sleep from her eyes.
“What time is it?” you grumble into the blanket.
“Almost eleven.”
“Um… three hours?”
“Do you need anything? Morgana said you weren’t feeling very good…”
“Water, please,” you croak, massaging your sprained wrist.
Nao nose bumps your free hand. You haven’t fed him yet; you pat him apologetically.
Ann returns with a glass of water. You notice your hands are trembling as you take it.
She lingers in front of you with her hands hooked behind her back and her mouth in a straight line.
Finally, she asks, “Are you okay?”
You nod, sitting up. “Just woke up in a lot of pain.”
“I’m sorry…”
“It’s okay. I’m feeling better now.” You pause. “Have you been… checking on Akira?”
Her bright blue eyes blink, and she lowers her voice. “We all try to, but we think he doesn’t want us to see him… struggling, if you get what I mean.”
You nod. “He was limping this morning. I just wanted to make sure.”
Her face falls into a frown. “Really? I haven’t noticed… Do you want me to ask him about it?”
You shake your head and tap the empty glass with your nails. “Just check on him. Make sure he knows you guys are here.”
Pressure on the wooden stairs alerts you to stop talking.
Akira nearly trips down the steps as if cued to enter stage left, followed by a much more poised Morgana.
You know Ann will make things weird (she’s already stiffening up), so you say, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
He’s rubbing his swollen eyes, face unveiled by his lack of glasses. “Morning.”
“I forget that you sleep in so late,” you say as he approaches your meeting space in the living room.
“It would have been nice if you stayed to sleep in with me,” he murmurs back. Ann’s eyes pop open wide.
“I’m sorry,” you say, smiling.
He stretches and you only glance at the thin sliver of his pale stomach you see beneath his shirt.
He muses, “I stay over so you’re not lonely, and then you leave me all alone, anyway…”
Ann changes the subject, voice humorously high-pitched. “We’re going back to Shido’s Palace in a couple of days… I know you probably don’t feel ready yet, but if you want to come…”
You think and then shake your head. “No, thank you. I have a couple of errands to run, anyway.”
Her pout deepens, now tugging her eyebrows down with it. “But– if you go out–”
“I’ll be okay,” you say and try to smile.
“What errands?” Akira presses, still by all definitions half asleep. “It would be better if you go at night.”
“I wanted to see Munehisa,” you reply. “I haven’t seen him since–”
You cut yourself off because abruptly they both look down at you, sad and pitiful.
Ann looks at Akira as if to pry for his objection.
But he merely wanders toward the kitchen and says, “Just be careful, and let us know where you are.”
Thankful that he doesn’t object, you smile.
“Actually,” you start quietly, “can I help you guys in Shido’s Palace this week?”
You release a breath when you approach Munehisa Iwai’s house and find his car parked crookedly outside. He’s home.
You creep around to the backdoor and knock on the concealed window pane the least obnoxiously that you can.
You think that he doesn’t hear you, but the blinds rustle and abruptly the door rips open.
He towers above you in the doorway as he hurriedly motions you inside, his short gray hair uncombed and his dark T-shirt bearing an obscure band logo.
Despite being your adoptive father, Munehisa doesn’t frequently hug you (nor enter your personal space at all).
So you don’t expect his large arms to capture you in a tight embrace as soon as he closes the door behind you.
You manage to nimbly hug him back.
Your eyes fall shut when he mutters relieved words that you’re alive into your head. You don’t tell him that his hug is so constricting that it hurts you.
Much like his hug wraps you, you’re too wrapped up in the nostalgic scent of his home, back when you would come over for dinner and do your homework with Kaoru on the living room floor. Things were still so complex, but much easier than now.
You hear his adoptive son enter, uncertain and slow, from his bedroom.
As soon as he sees it’s you, he’s barreling forward to hug you next.
In a chest-aching daze, you turn to Munehisa and find that he’s suppressing tears.
You’ve never seen this – you assume Kaoru hasn’t, either, as you both exchange a nervous glance.
Embarrassed, Munehisa steps outside and doesn’t return for a few minutes.
While he’s gone, the first thing Kaoru says to you is, “You made dad cry.”
You cover your mouth and speak through your hands, “I didn’t mean to. I–”
You flinch as Kaoru tugs you into another hug. His glasses are cold against your neck.
“We’ve been so worried,” he says as he pulls away. “It’s been dead quiet ever since the news statement came out.”
You release a shaky breath and steel yourself to hold in your tears. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
The house is surprisingly clean despite both of their noticeably awful states.
You help yourself to a snack and then sit on the couch to tell Munehisa as much as you can bear to explain.
You can feel the rage radiating from him as you go over the parts no one wants to hear, the beatings and the sedation and the framing.
He explains that two officers interrogated him when you were still in custody.
Another officer returned within the past two days to search his home for any traces of you. Munehisa supposedly flipped him off on his way out, with luckily no repercussions.
You nearly refrain from telling him some aspects out of fear of what he may do with this anger. As if Mune didn’t hate the police enough already–
You’re lying on the couch as you text the Phantom Thieves your location and affirm that you’re safe.
Munehisa prepares dinner. His typical rule of “if you eat it, you help make it” doesn’t apply to you right now apparently, as he combats your every attempt to even enter the kitchen.
You can feel the ache returning to the right half of your head and you take an extra pill in the container you carry with you. That’s your fifth pill today.
You watch Kaoru play Stardew Valley on the TV after dinner. Within no time, you’ve dozed off.
You feel a warmth cloak over you.
You flinch and open your eyes, but you relax as you watch Munehisa adjust a blanket over you.
You glance up at him through narrowed slits and then settle back into the couch. You suppose you’re staying the night.
You use your last unit of energy to text Akira something along the lines of “stayinf @ Munes” and he sends a goodnight message.
“Can I help you in the store today?” you ask Munehisa the next morning. Kaoru already left for school with a vow to not mention your whereabouts.
His brows knit, stubbly jaw tightening. “I dunno if you’d be up for that right now. You need rest.”
“I haven’t helped you at work in a while.” You frown, but he crosses his arms. “And it gets boring and lonely being by myself all day.”
“I dunno…” he repeats, adjusting his cap on his head. “What if the pigs come by today?”
“I’ll be in disguise,” you beg with a smile.
“Fine,” he gives in with a sigh. “But you better be ready in twenty.”
You rush to shower and tug on the least revealing clothing you own, plus a medical mask and hat as Makoto had suggested.
Some of your clothes live in the guest bedroom in Mune’s house, too, since you used to stay over occasionally.
Little pieces of yourself exist in so many different places: your flat, Munehisa’s home, Ann’s house, the attic in Leblanc, and– you wonder what still remains in Goro’s apartment, it all feels so long ago–
You forget it by swallowing two pills and slipping into your shoes.
You smell cigarette smoke on Munehisa’s coat as he pulls it on. You fumble with the guilt of causing him to relapse, even if it was inadvertent and beyond your control. You don’t mention it to him.
Alternative music plays from the overhead radio speakers as you wipe off some display stands in Untouchable.
You feel a little buzzed, and the quiet radio chatter between songs contributes to the sensation of floating as you move from shelf to shelf.
It’s the only work Munehisa trusts you to do in your physical state, though you even lose those privileges within an hour as he sends you to the back to organize paperwork.
“Paperwork’s what you’re good at, ain’t it?” he teases with a crooked grin. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes are more apparent today.
You roll your eyes and grumble nonsense at him, but you banish yourself into the back room as he requests.
You wait until a customer leaves before you emerge again to ask Mune about a file.
You hear deep voices outside, but you don’t think much of it until Munehisa looks at the glass door, distracted, and then says, “Go to the back.”
You follow his stare, feet frozen and heavy. “What–?”
“Go,” he snaps, and you obey without question.
You scurry into the back room. Munehisa closes and locks the door behind you.
The desk nearly topples when you back into it numbly.
The inappropriately cheerful melody of the door chime outside only makes your intestines constrict more.
You can no longer hear the radio, only the hot pounding in your ears. Did you leave your bag in the front?
Munehisa answers the officers’ questions gruffly, but his blunt voice lacks any hint of deception.
You breathe into your palms. The file has fallen to the floor somewhere.
Munehisa is used to evading the police, he’s done it all his life, he knows what he’s doing.
You hear one officer ask, “Do your employees know anything? We’re aware that you employed a high school boy here.”
“He ain’t been here in weeks,” Munehisa replies. You realize they’re referring to Akira. “Anything else you want to brown-nose into?”
You hear the other officer threaten Munehisa’s establishment for soliciting illegal equipment, but he doesn’t seem touched or frantic.
He verbally pushes them to leave, and a moment later you hear the door chime once again.
You exhale and feel the heat leaving your neck and shoulders.
Your stomach remains twisted up as you stay pressed into the corner, waiting for Munehisa to open the door. Your body aches as if you’d done something strenuous to reignite the pain.
Against the dim ceiling lights in the back room, you feel everything you’ve ignored crawling up your stomach to your throbbing head, entering like insects skittering on the gray walls and into the warm canals of your ears.
You don’t want to live this way. This is so stupid. This is so stupid.
You hate Goro for getting you into this situation, where you have to cower in a locked supply closet just to mislead the cops, for getting you beaten in ways that your biological dad could never top.
You hate yourself for even trusting Goro in the first place. He fooled so many people, but you never expected that would include you.
The Phantom Thieves are infiltrating Shido’s Palace in an attempt to clear both your and Akira’s names, but what if that doesn’t work? What if you’re running from the police for the rest of your life?
The handle unlocks and the heavy door opens.
Munehisa stands in the doorway, his back illuminated by the store lights.
“Stay in here for a minute,” he orders quietly. “Till I know they’re gone.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
Something has clogged your throat deep enough to reach the pipes of your chest. You visualize drain flies exiting your mouth one by one, crawling up and down your teeth like your gums consist of decaying meat and sewer grime.
Munehisa returns to the checkout table as if nothing had happened.
You remain pressed into the corner, frozen in place and awaiting his sign.
You can’t tell if your vision has tunneled or if it’s the afterimage of the dark room, the ceiling light clarifying just the center.
Once you’re safe to come out, you can feel your breath, in and out, in time with each step of your right foot, then left.
You squint beneath the bright fluorescent lights at Mune, seated with his combat boots creasing his comics atop the glass checkout table.
His face looks wrinkled up and mean with fury from past grudges that far predate your current situation.
“You should go back to your friend’s tonight,” he grumbles. “They’re gonna have eyes on me like a hawk for a long fuckin’ minute. You all right, kid?”
You try again – nothing comes out of your mouth. A numbness sits heavy on your sternum.
Somehow, Ann ropes Ryuji into walking you to Leblanc the next morning.
That’s not how it started – you needed to buy dog food, and Ann had to meet someone for her modeling gig. So, she convinced Ryuji to take you.
You told her you would rather go alone than deal with his shade, to which she responded, “He’s on the way now!”
Now, you walk beside the blond boy clad in a purple hoodie and a beanie to hide his hair as you exit the grocery store.
Your mission is successful and with minimal financial damage. Ryuji offers to carry the bag of food.
You catch him glancing at your face as if he can read it beneath your surgical mask.
“Hey, uh,” he starts, likely sick of the silence, “you all right? You’re real quiet.”
You nod. You’re not high on pain medicine today, so you at least know what’s going on as you traverse the Shibuya streets.
You pause when he stops in front of a food booth in the train station.
He says, “I wanna eat before we go in… You want anything?”
You shake your head, but he raises a pinprick eyebrow.
“It’s all right, I just got paid,” he insists, obviously proud of himself for the fact – you would smile if you had more energy than you do. “I can get you somethin’.”
“No, thank you.” You shake your head again, but Ryuji frowns now in a way that reminds you of a begging puppy.
“Come on, I don’t wanna be the only one with food.” He gently pulls you by your arm closer to the kiosk, probably to persuade you to look at the options. “Whaddya want?”
Since you have the feeling you will get obliterated if you don’t accept Ryuji’s generous offer, you give in and pick something small.
He immediately grins widely, and you falter a bit – he has never smiled at you like that, like how he smiles at his friends.
You enter Leblanc behind Ryuji to find Akira, Ann, and Morgana discussing something in a booth.
“‘Modeling gig,’ my ass!” Ryuji shrieks.
You wince. Morgana and Ann simultaneously shush him.
Quieter, Ryuji fires, “You just wanted to have a secret meeting!”
Akira questions, hands folded beneath his chin, “What would we have a secret meeting about?”
“I don’t know!” Ryuji either yields or doesn’t care enough to stick to the subject. “Anyway, I brought food so I won’t hog yours! We can take it in if you want.”
He hands your order to you, and you thank him bashfully.
You notice Akira eyeing you from your place behind Ryuji.
You fiddle with the food container, unsure of how to react to his attention.
Akira says, “Things went fine on the way over?”
You nod, and Ryuji confirms, “No trouble in sight.”
Now you wait for everyone else, you suppose.
The five of you relocate to the attic, where Yusuke is working on an art project sprawled across the wooden floor: the last remains of his midterm project, he explains. You ask him about your friends at Kosei.
You’re a little baffled when Akira motions you over. He’s kneeling in front of his bookshelf alone while Ann and Ryuji make conversation.
You sit beside him, and he reveals a worn DVD case with “Japanese Sign Language” inked across the top of the faded cover.
“I know you said you were learning a little,” he says, offering you the case. “Me and Ann want to learn, too, if it motivates you at all.”
You’re grinning so hard it hurts. You take the dusty case and rotate it in your fingers.
“That one comes with two discs and a book,” Akira continues, adjusting his hoodie strings. “I dunno how good they are, but… it was pretty cheap at the thrift store up the street.”
You look up at him, wide-eyed. “Is it for me?”
“Well, duh.”
“But–”
“I’ve kinda always wanted to learn sign language,” he explains, “but I didn’t know who I would use it with. But if we both learn it…”
You don’t think as you yank him into a hug. He nearly topples into you and grips your waist for support.
“Thank you,” you whisper into his thick hair.
You hear Ryuji whistle indicatively in your direction, and it’s surprising enough for you to pull away.
You and Akira blink at the audience of stares you’ve acquired. Your hands linger on his shoulders.
Trying not to show your embarrassment, you rush over to Ann and show her the DVDs Akira just gifted you.
As soon as you enter the Metaverse, you sacrifice some stamina to heal yourself properly.
You nearly moan in relief but stifle the noise into your black glove.
You stretch, indescribably soothed to not feel an aching protest as you move. Panther and Noir giggle at your obvious ease.
You can’t believe you’ve gone this long living in constant pain. You’re not 100% better, but you’ll take any inch toward normal you can.
Similarly, you need to remind yourself of how to navigate (quite literally) without tripping on your feet or becoming overwhelmed. Your mask has lenses over the eyes that help you see clearer and discover items, rooms, or enemy signals.
It allows you to have panoramic vision much like the rabbit your mask is modeled after – but this costs you a small blind spot directly in front and behind you.
It can be a little overstimulating. You reestablish your balance after a few easy fights.
Masayoshi Shido, himself, is nowhere to be found. His Palace is an agonizingly lavish and regal rendition of the Diet Building, with lush reds and 24-karat golds decorating the interior that make your head hurt.
The fraudulent chandeliers remain stable in the cabs, deceiving anyone inside into thinking they’re on flat earth; sometimes, you feel the carpet rocking beneath your rubber soles in time to the ocean current, but you think you’re imagining it.
Your Persona isn’t well suited for combat, so you struggle to once again find your place in the proficient group of Phantom Thieves.
You help with the puzzles instead, as well as directing the others toward loot or hidden paths.
You’re a little flustered when Joker begins gently calling you over to assist with the ship’s cognitive mind games. Your thoughts wander to the most recent time he said so sweetly, “Fae,” and your gloved fingers tap against your leg anxiously.
He muses that he’ll change your code name to “The Brains” but you insist that you’re not contributing much.
Despite his good-intentioned remarks and his requests for your help, Joker seems distant and occupied.
You chalk it up to general nerves, or maybe from you being one of eight people he must guide and ensure are safe in this unpredictable realm. You can imagine the stress.
But so many times in the real world, Akira would cast a look at you, or a wink, or anything– and here, he doesn’t pay you any attention at all unless he needs you.
You feel yourself falling victim to a push and pull, an alternating fear that you’ve somehow done something to lose his favor followed by his intensely seductive, brief recognition that reaffirms he sees something in you that no one else does.
The revelation makes you fret that you care much more about Akira’s perception of you than you think you do.
You try to brush it off and readjust the rabbit skull concealing your eyes.
Maybe you shouldn’t come into the Metaverse with them if it’s going to make you resort to pondering these things.
The following few days are strangely (but thankfully) uneventful.
You lounge around for much of the day, usually on the phone with Akira. Neither of you has anything better to do, with no classes or work to attend.
When Ann returns home from school, you often watch anime with her or help her with chemistry homework.
The two of you are up late one night and decide to burn through the sign language discs.
You have to fight with her family’s old DVD player to even get them to function. By then, you’re so sleep-deprived that you both giggle nonsensically as you mess up signs and correct one another, pausing and playing the lessons multiple times.
One rainy night, Akira confides over a message that he’s just as anxious to sleep alone in Leblanc as you are to sleep alone in a bed.
You visualize it: the entire café empty and lifeless, besides his presence. The storage room is darker than it’s supposed to be, and misleading shadows sit at the booths and creak the worn floorboards downstairs. You would feel anxious, too.
You suggest calling until one of you goes to sleep, much like you used to do with your friends and Goro.
Over video call, you show him some of the signs you’ve learned with Ann, and he attempts to commit them to memory. Leblanc’s attic is pitch black, so you trust that he’s practicing them behind the screen with you.
You ask, “Are you guys going in tomorrow?”
“No,” he replies, “Ryuji’s leg was acting up so we wanted to wait. Do you have any plans tomorrow?”
The question is more of a joke since neither of you are supposed to go anywhere.
“I actually do,” you respond, smiling.
“Oh?”
You explain, “I’m going to Dr. Takemi tomorrow. I’m almost out of pain medication.”
Akira pauses. You anticipate that he can see right through you, every lie and misdeed you’ve ever committed.
“How many pills are you taking?” he asks, his voice more serious now. “You shouldn’t have finished the bottle that quickly.”
Caught in your schemes, you confess, “I take a few more than I should… If I don’t take them, I get headaches and feel really gross.”
Akira pauses again. “You’re not experiencing withdrawal, are you? From the sedatives?”
You pinch your bare phone case. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not any better after you healed yourself in the Metaverse?”
“No, it is… Some things still hurt, though. And the headache always comes back.”
“That’s not good,” he replies helpfully.
You roll onto one side so your back is against Nao’s. He stretches and falls back asleep. “You’re telling me.”
“Well.” He stops. You cling to the lingering words he has yet to say. “Just be careful. You’re going alone?”
“Yeah. I’m going to wait until dark.”
“Okay. Feel free to stop by Leblanc for dinner if you want.”
You smile and nearly find yourself kicking your feet, the utter epitome of an infatuated schoolgirl.
“As much as I want to see you and Mona,” you say, “I don’t want to drag suspicion to you. The cops almost found me when I was with Mune.”
“Are you serious?” Any playful tone has vanished. “You didn’t tell me this.”
You reflect on the past week. To be fair, you don’t remember that much of it, the days blurring into one cinematic showing.
You murmur, “Oh… I told Ann, I thought I mentioned it… Two officers came to ask Mune questions. He handled it, I’m fine.”
“God…” He begins muttering to himself. “Please be careful. Do you want me to just pick up the medication for you?”
You insist, “I’ll be okay. If you don’t get a ‘goodnight’ text from me, probably be worried.”
“How about,” he starts, “I leave food for you outside Leblanc’s door. You can pick it up when you’re leaving Yongen.”
At sunset, you venture into the subway so you can surface at Yongen-Jaya by nightfall. December starts tomorrow, and the city is still uncharacteristically warm. It’s been a feverish year.
Takemi doesn’t seem to recognize you at first, but she hears your voice and the shoulders of her lab coat relax.
As you sit in the examination room, you watch the coat swish against her calves elegantly like a bride’s dress train, and you find you miss wearing your lab coat.
You feel an unspoken, short-lived envy for her position, like you reached your peak as the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s forensic technician and now you’re spiraling in dirty sweatpants as a fugitive on the run.
“You seem a lot better, physically,” Takemi comments, dark eyes wide and blinking. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
You smile. “Thank you.”
“Would you like a prescription?”
You consider saying no. You should probably ease off of the pain medicine, or any medicine at all.
But you say, “Yes, please. Do you have sleep medication?”
As you descend the steep white stairs of the clinic, you hold two pill bottles in your bag.
You message Ann and Akira that you’re on your way back. You walk toward Leblanc and, by extension, the train station as you text.
When you put your phone away, it’s too late once you notice, approaching you beneath the moth-less street lights with a gait you arguably know better than any other in Japan–
A voice says, “Excuse me,” and you freeze.
Your eyes can barely even focus on Goro as he stops before you.
Why is he here? There is no reason for him to be in Yongen-Jaya unless he’s checking Leblanc to ensure Akira is gone for good, or–
He must have followed you here.
If he notices your cowering, he doesn’t visibly acknowledge it.
He looks performed and TV-ready as always – gentle smile, soft hair, unwrinkled uniform.
Your eyes briefly fall to his badge as it reflects the cold light above you.
You should have just let Akira pick up the fucking prescription.
Goro has a polite lift to his voice that he hasn’t used with you in nearly a year. “Would you happen to know where the station is from here? I’m not as familiar with this area.”
Your heart skips, confused. Maybe he doesn’t recognize you.
But he wouldn’t ask a stranger, he’s just as asocial as the average teenager, and he’s been here hundreds of times–
Then– he’s likely asking you this to get you to talk.
Sometimes, you’d ask suspects for casual information, like a restroom, while undercover just to hear their voice or observe their natural body language.
You stiffen, aware that his warm brown eyes are noting your every move.
You can’t read him, you haven’t known how to since he disposed of you like trash into the hands of the law, but you have to answer soon, or–
You try to lower and quiet your voice, “It’s in the direction you just came from.”
“Ah, thank you,” he says, soft-spoken. He smiles at your compliance. “I apologize, my sense of direction is a bit embarrassing.”
Your neck feels hot. Your hands sweat in your pockets. You hear no sirens.
But then he smiles a little wider like he knows and comments, “I couldn’t help but notice you exit that clinic. That’s brave of you – rumors are circulating regarding the doctor. What do you visit her for?”
You need to leave. You should have escaped before he changed the subject.
But where will you go? He will follow you onto the train, and Leblanc is certainly out of the question or else you’ll lead the wolf right into the den. You don’t think you have the athleticism to lose him in a crowd somewhere.
You don’t realize you’ve taken a step back to increase the distance between you. You want to hit yourself.
“Um–” you stammer.
You don’t want to go back. You don’t want to go back.
Goro’s eyes search yours, like a long-lost friend he can’t quite place the name of. Your pulse throbs in your ears, your temples.
You see blue lights beneath your eyelids when you blink as if the cool veins have burst and clouded your vision.
You manage, “I’m sorry, I have to go–”
“Yes, of course,” he replies, smiling. “I’m sorry, I let my curiosity get the better of me sometimes. Have a nice night.”
You can’t find the words to respond.
Despite every urge to bolt, you force yourself to walk toward the thrift store down the street. Easy hunting logic: if you run, you’re prey.
You exhale shakily and squeeze your bag strap to control your trembling hands.
Your face is numb, prickling and fuzzy like pins and needles when your arm falls asleep.
You don’t hear Goro following you, but it doesn’t ease your nerves.
You visualize entering the train station and immediately getting tackled and cuffed, just as you were two weeks ago, you’d just handed Goro a form fifteen minutes before being shoved into the backseat of a cop car–
Where do you go?
If you take too long to evade him, he can use this time to inform the police of your location, if he hasn’t already. But you don’t know how to lose him.
He’ll still track you – he isn’t a detective for nothing, and you’ve seen him when following a lead: relentless.
Should you call someone? What if the police are searching Ann’s house right now?
You take a deep breath. Some time in the bathroom will at least clear your head.
You exhale as you push the store’s heavy door open.
You ignore the shopkeeper’s greeting and the only customer browsing a rack. You nudge the single-stall entrance door and flick the light on.
As you push the bathroom door closed, a force from outside stops it halfway.
You panic and, without thinking, shove the door, pushing with your whole body weight to close it.
Your ribs hurt, and your arm aches, but you desperately push just as a tan shoulder wedges into the door crack. It won’t close.
“Stop,” Goro snaps, whispering. His hiss is a baffling change from the polite lilt just three minutes prior, especially when it refracts against the restroom walls. “You’re going to draw attention to yourself.”
His comment startles you enough to stop you.
Just as you return to your senses and push again, he’s slipped in like an eel.
He closes and locks the door behind himself.
You stumble backward until you feel a wall at your spine. Your legs give out.
Your knees slide to the dirty bathroom tile and you hide your face in your hands.
Beneath the fear, you feel ashamed, somehow. The only thing your rabbit-like Persona is good for is escaping situations, and you couldn’t even flee from the detective correctly, given a real-world situation.
Goro’s murmuring something to you. You hear his briefcase touch the floor.
You still hide, convinced that if you don’t see him, it won’t be real.
“(F/N),” he finally says, right in front of you. “I’m not going to turn you in. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
You shake your head, not believing him.
Everything hurts, and he’d overpowered you without a single struggle.
Your fate is at his call right now, just as it was in the interrogation room, or at that precinct clinic table…
You feel leather gloves on your wrists.
Goro tugs your hands away from your face. You don’t even put up a fight.
His pretty face descends into a frown when he sees your tears. You feel yourself hyperventilating.
“Shh, hey,” he murmurs, no longer putting up a front. “There are no cameras in here. You’re okay.”
You can’t really understand him through your funneling puffs of air.
Realizing his verbal comforts are futile, he releases one of your wrists – your bad wrist – and carefully pulls your surgical mask down to your chin.
“Deep breaths,” he mumbles, brows furrowed beneath his toffee bangs. “You’re okay. I’m not turning you in.”
You only cry harder, so he cups your face in his hands. Your tears stick to his leather fingers and pool at the bases of his palms. He only shushes you again.
You cough weakly, calming down a little.
You dig your nails into your sweatpants. What does he want with you?
You want to ask him, but you open your mouth and the words glue themselves to the back of your teeth.
He readjusts his kneeling position in front of you – you know he still refuses to touch a public bathroom floor.
“I know that you’re staying with Ann,” he begins quietly, stroking your face with his leather thumbs. “And I’m aware of the bounty. I’m not going to turn you in. I will try to dissuade the authorities from your trail for the time being. But you need to do some things for me, okay?”
You don’t reply, nor nod, but simply stare at him as you process it.
Seeing you won’t, he continues, “Do not leave Ann’s house – if you have to, travel by yourself. They know who your friends are, and the other Phantom Thieves. They’re keeping an eye on all of them right now, looking for you.”
You suck up an inhale. Goro holds your face firmer and shushes you again.
“You’re not using your phone or personal electronics, are you?”
You shake your head.
“Good,” he replies, whispering again. “Limit your Internet usage. Only use cash – no one’s cards, and certainly not yours. I can handle the rest from my end, so long as you’re careful.”
You whimper, the desperation of it all hitting you.
“Can you do that for me?” he says.
You nod and plug your tears.
Making eye contact with him this closely, murmuring with his hands cradling your face– the leather scent of his gloves wafts into your nose and you nearly cry from the memories awakened.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, “for everything. I’m so sorry. The least that I can do is keep your location a secret.”
You make a sniveling noise, hushed halfway by him.
“Just persevere for a bit longer… all right?” he whispers. “It will all be over soon, I promise. You won’t need to live in hiding like this forever.”
You fall silent, no more hyperventilating or crying or weeping.
“I’m sorry that I frightened you.” Goro’s eyes avert to the porcelain of the toilet, or somewhere past it. “I didn’t mean to. I’m glad that you’re seeking medical treatment… Are your records confidential with that doctor?”
Wordlessly, you nod. You feel you’re in a daze – the cathartic, slow post-cry sensation.
Hands still glued to your cheeks, he wipes your lingering tears. “Are you all right? Is anything… seriously injured?”
You sniffle and shake your head. Your wrist aches as if to protest your dismissal.
“She doesn’t know who you are, right?” he asks, lower, about Takemi.
You shake your head again. You try to speak but a humbling whistle escapes your throat, instead.
“All right,” he says. Though, he looks away and repeats it, as if he’s reassuring himself more so than you. “We shouldn’t remain here for long.”
You don’t reply, not even offering a head nod.
You abruptly think of how much blood has been smeared onto the very hands he’s touching you with. You feel dizzy and recoil.
Goro takes it as a sign to slide his hands from your cheeks as you try not to shiver.
The disgust quickly transitions into embarrassment when he stands and wipes your tears on his slacks to dry his gloves.
“Can you stand?” he asks, eyeing your seated position.
Without answering him, you use your hands to push yourself to your feet. Despite the extra support, your arms tremble and your legs almost buckle with the effort.
You blink and he’s handing you crappy paper towels from the dispenser so you can dry your face.
Not that you mind the quality much – your mind is on anything but the dry scraping against your cheeks.
You don’t even realize you’ve wiped your face until you’re balling up the soiled napkin in your hands. You can throw it away, but you don’t move.
Goro checks his phone as he lifts his silver briefcase once more. Then, he looks up at you.
You feel stupid, shrinking and sniffling from a safe distance.
“You can leave first,” he offers, gesturing to the door. “I’ll wait five minutes before I leave after you, all right? I’ll attract some attention.”
Regardless of his sound reasoning and motioning hand, you don’t move.
You stare at him with the caution of pursued game, deciding whether to remain still or flee.
Noticing this, his face falls. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
You don’t answer, but your fidgeting says enough. He sighs.
“I can’t expect you to,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “Would you rather I leave first?”
Either way, this feels like a trap.
His sincerity is apparent, but you can’t distinguish how much of it is real. Before getting arrested, you believed all of it was real. You don’t know what to think now.
After a long pause, you shake your head and step toward the door. You don’t want to be a sitting duck.
You reach for the door handle.
Before you can turn it, Goro says, “Take care of yourself.”
You stop as if forming a reply, but you don’t say anything.
You open the door and pull it shut behind you, not looking back as you exit the moth-ball scented thrift store.
No authorities await you outside.
Just residents, delivery men, and window shoppers stroll past.
Your heart beats against your rib cage enough to make your chest hurt. The troubled heat has evaporated from your arms and now you shiver beneath the evening breeze.
You glance around before you make a detour to snatch up the food on Leblanc’s doorstep.
Your hands tremble as you call Ann while you’re booking it to the station.
She can barely get out a “hello” before you’re saying, “I ran into Goro.”
“WHAT?” You can hear stuff rustling around on the other end. “What happened? Are you okay? Did he recognize you?”
“Yeah, he did,” you admit. “I– I think I’m gonna hide in Mementos for a little. I don’t think he’s planning anything, but–”
“No,” Ann says with a firmness you’ve never heard from her before. “Come here. You shouldn’t be out.”
You hesitate as you look down at the empty train tracks. This is your best chance to open the app.
“(F/N), hello?” she prompts to get your attention. “Are you on your way home?”
You answer, “Yeah. The train is almost here.”
“I’m going to text the group chat– is that okay?”
“Yeah. I don’t have much service down here.”
“Okay– Text me when you’re almost home.”
You agree and hang up shortly after.
You look around at the exhausted people loitering near you, waiting for their lifts. You feel you blend in, just for a minute, and it eases you somewhat.
You keep it together on the ride home.
You can’t help imagining a presence over your shoulder. You glance back multiple times as if you expect to find Goro (or someone worse) lingering somewhere behind. You don’t see anyone.
Before you exit the station, you gaze down at the red eye of the Metaverse app icon.
It peers back up at you in wait. It seems to glow beneath your thumb.
You swipe to your messages and text Ann that you’re almost home, instead.
As soon as you arrive safely and Ann opens the back door for you, you burst into tears.
As if you and Akira aren’t already limited in your traveling, it’s now a consensus that none of you should be out longer than necessary.
The other Phantom Thieves attend school (minus Futaba), some clock in for work, and all of you meet at the Diet Building every other day. Otherwise, none of you leave your houses.
No news unfolds, leading you to wonder if Goro was being genuine with you.
You’re uncertain if he even knows that Akira is alive. Maybe you should play it safe and assume that he knows.
Perhaps your all-nighter binge with Ann is worth it because she and Akira need to resort to full sign language with you for the following week.
You can hardly bring yourself to speak, living each peaceful day waiting for the other shoe to drop and the officers to break down Ann’s door.
It causes communication obstacles in the Metaverse, but the group seems insistent on you tagging along.
One Saturday night after a productive trip to Shido’s Palace, the group swiftly disperses from the Diet Building’s outskirts. Akira nudges your arm.
You see his eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile. “Yusuke’s walking Futaba back to Yongen. Is it okay if me and Ryuji come over for a little while? Ann already said yes, but I wanted to ask you.”
Baffled that he’s asking you (it’s not like it’s your house), you blink but manage to nod.
The street lights illuminate the humid frizz in his black hair from the past three hours of battling enemies and sweating over riddles, though his hood hides most of it. You’re sure that you don’t look too great, either.
“Do you wanna hang out with us?” he asks, more hesitantly. His hands find his pockets. “We’re probably gonna get high and play video games or something.”
Oh.
Even through the surgical mask, he can probably see the blank face you’re making.
You don’t mean to fit the ‘anti-partier’ nerd stereotype in front of Akira right now (you’re all in high school, so you should assume they’re smoking or drinking in their free time), but growing up with an alcoholic for a father has always made you uninterested in substance usage.
This only adds to the list of things you didn’t know about Akira until now, while you’re both fugitives and there is no separating wall of police officer and probationer to prevent him from confiding in you.
You’re on equivalent levels now, ‘the same side of the playing field’ as he said two weeks ago.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Akira says because you haven’t answered him (not that you verbally can, anyway). “Or we can do it somewhere else if we’ll keep you awake at Ann’s, or it makes you uncomfy.”
None of you know how to sign complete sentences yet, so you apprehensively sign ‘police’ in hopes that he’ll understand.
Akira stands up straighter and thinks for a second. “We won’t get caught. So… do you wanna join?”
You think of the prescription pills you haven’t removed from your bag since the day you ran into Goro in Yongen-Jaya. Each time you look at your bag, you feel his gloved hands on your face and taste the twang of vinegar in your mouth.
You nod and Akira seems to relax.
“Are you sure?” he still asks.
Ryuji pokes him aggressively from behind, but he ignores him and continues to stare at you like you’re the only two to exist on this busy street. You’re not sure that this is your dream blunt rotation.
You nod again, regardless.
Akira lets you hold his hand on the quiet walk back to Ann’s house.
The air is uncharacteristically tense as you traverse Shido’s Palace two days later.
You think it’s because Joker seems distracted, but you can’t blame it on much else. Maybe you’re all feeling the pressure of your deadline – the Ballot Count in a few days – suspended above you like an anvil.
In a Safe Room, Oracle calls you over from the center ottoman-like chair. You leave Queen to walk over to her.
She signs something, and then says, “This is your name, right?”
You nod, surprised. She grins so hard that her glasses shift on her nose.
The young girl crosses her legs and explains, “I’ve really wanted to learn sign language. I figured it would help a little in public… I only know the alphabet and my name, though – and now your name, too!”
You don’t realize you’re smiling until your gloved hand brushes your rising cheek.
“Can you teach me what you know once this is all over?” she begs, clasping her chunky techno gloves together.
You nod. She pumps her fists in the air and cheers.
“You still owe me a game of MarioKart, by the way,” Oracle mentions. “Game night on Christmas Eve?”
You nod.
That really puts it into perspective; ideally, things will be back to normal by the new year.
You can’t envision it. You’ve spent so much time focusing on evading capture and surviving that you haven’t even thought of what comes afterward.
You assume that your forensics position is out the window – you don’t think you can bear to return to law enforcement after all of this, anyway.
You wonder if Joker really has some sort of sixth sense, or he just happened to feel off today, because the detective emerges in princely garb while you’re passing through the engine room.
Your neck grows hot and your forehead accumulates sweat beneath your mask when he approaches your group.
Goro rambles on about his background that’s led him here, his unparalleled envy of Joker, and his grand scheme for once you’re all out of the picture.
You don’t know why a part of you aches, as if he’s betrayed you once again. Perhaps he wasn’t being genuine when you encountered him last week.
When Goro’s eyes fall on you, his expression doesn’t soften.
“I should have anticipated that you were helping them,” he remarks, smooth but monotone, controlled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go, when I had the chance to nip all of this in the bud.”
Panther and Fox both shield you at once. You block a strained exhale as it jerks out of you.
Joker says calmly, “Leave Fae out of this. It’s you and me.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Goro’s snarling suddenly, teeth gritted beneath his bird mask. “I knew that you would turn them against me!”
You try to speak up, but your voice still hasn’t returned. You claw at your throat and mask in frustration that you can’t get the words out. You can only watch it all happen, you can’t help.
“What do you mean?” Joker asks him. You stare at the thick hair adorning the back of his head.
“From the very beginning,” he barks, “I could tell. I knew that you would assimilate them into your ‘just cause’ and tarnish their perception of me!”
More wary as Goro grows angrier, Joker replies, “They came to their own conclusions, I wasn’t trying to push them away from you.”
“But you did,” Goro says. “You managed to take everything from me, and you couldn’t even let me keep the one good thing in my life.”
“You did that to yourself!” Skull yells. You’re shocked he hasn’t spoken up already, or that he bothers to defend you. “You know how much shit Fae and Joker went through for your half-assed villain schtick?”
You clench the tall ears of your mask, squeezing hard enough that you expect them to crumble between your fingers like real bone. You wish you could talk.
Goro’s posture is tense at his golden shoulder pads, and his petite chin is tilted toward the floor.
“You don’t know anything,” he states, quieter. “You don’t know the half of it. The last thing I wanted was to wrap them up in all of this, but I had no choice.”
Hushed, Joker acknowledges, “It was Shido… wasn’t it?”
Goro doesn’t answer. The unsteady creaks and shifts from the ship’s turbulence can be felt clearer down here.
At the silence, Joker offers, “It’s not too late. We can take him down together.”
The prince exhales a sputtering laugh, unlike anything you’ve heard from him before. “Unfortunately, it is a bit late for that.”
You try to tug at sleeves and gloves to stop the Phantom Thieves from fighting him, but a hand is pulling you away. It’s Panther.
You can’t hear her. You don’t realize it’s because you can only hear your hyperventilating.
She holds your hands and guides you to sit down, away from the fight.
You try to resist, but seeing a fresh bloodstain already on the engine room floor causes you to turn away on instinct.
You visualize the gruesome and brutal outcomes, you don’t want any of them dead–
Goro reveals his Black Mask form and the energy in the humid air only rises in key with no sign of lowering again. The oppressive air reeks with blood and sweat.
You watch everyone’s health drain through your lenses and Panther and Noir have to hold you down like they’re dentists filling a resistant child’s cavity.
Goro’s much stronger than them, especially in this psychotic breakdown he’s voluntarily induced, but they’re wearing him down.
You squirm free from Panther and wobble to a stand. Noir tries to call you back.
You stop to think before unsheathing your right-side boomerang from its holster.
You step away to give yourself space.
With a learned precision and careful eye, you align your boomerang.
You sling it across the engine room with a practiced flick of your wrist. The dull edge collides with Goro’s black helmet with a thunk.
All momentum built up from the fight halts.
The boomerang zips back to your waiting hand in its gyroscopic precession, the last source of movement in the frozen room until you step up to the plate.
You try not to shrink away at everyone’s stares. You stop in front of Joker and face Goro’s hunched form, blocking his path.
You can’t talk and have no idea how to get through to him.
You’ve never known how to comfort him properly, and this attempt after your two-week-long estrangement may be your worst yet.
You need to decide how to cut this fight short without using a single word.
Goro’s eyes remain unreadable through the red tint of his visors, but you can feel him staring into you. His sword-wielding hand lingers at his side without purpose for a second.
Then, he brushes it aside, and his eyes narrow again. “(F/N), move.”
You shake your head. Joker doesn’t interfere, despite standing within reach of you.
Goro’s face lowers into a snarl. “It’s not you I want to hurt, it’s him.”
He yells at you to move again, but instead, you take a step toward him.
Your mind draws a blank now that you’re face to face with the murderer you’ve hunted for nearly two years. All the things you once wanted to say, the justice you wanted to solidify–
The dark claws of his free hand rise to shield one eye. He demands, weaker, “Don’t look at me like that.”
You could blink, and you would have missed it.
You’re unsure of what happened–
You feel Joker’s hand on your arm.
There’s a prepared murmur of persona.
You’re shoving a nimble body out of range.
You can’t remember the sharp pain first blossoming over your abdomen, but now you’re doubling over with the heavy throb and you nearly vomit when you realize the blood on your gloves is yours.
Everyone, who just stood atop a precipice watching the performance and awaiting a held applause, reacts to the unsatisfactory end; the silent engine room erupts into shouts and the metal shing of weapons unsheathing.
Wielding your last ounce of energy, you dig your teeth into your lip so you can bear to stand up straight.
You swing your lucky boomerang atop the Phantom Thieves’ heads.
You hold your breath until it hits, shattering the glass pane and striking the button beneath.
You hear your boomerang collide with the sturdy wall erected before it can reach your hand.
Desperate fists and Persona attacks alike strike the opposite side of the wall in hopes of tearing it down.
You turn to the figure behind you and collapse to your knees, devoid of will. If you can’t talk sense into him, you can scare it into him.
At what cost? Your hand holds your side, instinctively compressing the wound. You’re about to find out.
A vignette circles your vision as you drag your eyes to Goro, who hasn’t moved since firing the accidental attack that has floored you.
Before he recovers his sensibility, he hisses, “Are you stupid?”
It lacks any power or malice despite the mask distorting his voice into a lower pitch. He sounds scared.
Goro abandons his inhibitions and rushes over within seconds.
He drops his sword and slides to his knees, clawed hands shaking as they peel off your mask.
You manage to smile sadly at him but your throat suppresses a pained whimper. Huh… you can’t even make noises of pain during your mute episodes like this. It’s all silence.
You can’t even hear the cries and shouts from beyond the wall, only a ringing in your ears and Goro’s mumbled, panicking curses. Your Persona isn’t meant to take a hard hit like this.
Goro looks into your face with blistering anger, face smelted with horror. You can read his face better, this close. His black and blue bodysuit has small rips from the fight.
“Heal yourself!” You’re the disobedient dog, and he’s the one barking demands.
You don’t move.
“You’re going to die.” His voice cracks. He begins searching himself with trembling hands for any healing items. “Please–”
The thick scent of blood, iron-like and nauseating, rises to your nose and coats the top of your throat like a knife would a sandwich spread.
You feel lightheaded at the smell and teeter to your padded elbow, unable to support your weight to sit up anymore.
Your instinct is to curl into the fetal position. You manage to arrive at a halfway point and lay on your side, watching Goro as he grows more frantic.
It hurts, and you can’t feel your arms.
You don’t notice Goro using both hands to cup an item in your gloved palms.
Blood smears over the orb as it pulses with a soft green glow and restores you to something manageable.
This is the part you don’t like. Your eyes squeeze shut and you have nothing to gnaw at to subdue the sensation besides your own mouth.
There are a few unpleasant tugs, and then an itch, the skin cells regenerating with miraculous speed as if you’re being sewn back together from the inside out. It’s an unnatural process with immense discomfort as a sacrifice for eventual reprieve.
Goro has to hold your side to stop you from writhing. His other hand still secures yours as the item does its job. You try not to cringe at the cold metal of his gloves.
Once the effects stop, your mind is no longer numb and helplessly primitive with pain.
There’s still an ache in your side when you breathe, like a precordial catch of the rib.
You’re laying on the cool engine room floor with the man behind the mental shutdowns exhaling in relief above you, and he’s not killing you and you’re not arresting him.
The knocks and voices beyond the wall have ceased; the others are likely searching for a way around.
“I’m so sorry,” Goro’s blubbering. “I didn’t– You know I didn’t mean to–”
You will your arms upward, hands lazily reaching up like hands toward a light, or youthful fingers grasping for someone to lift them. He doesn’t stop you.
Your bloodstained gloves find his sharp mask and tug.
He unhooks two parallel condyles on his mask (that you would have never found), so he can remove the upper portion of his headgear.
Tangled, sweat-drenched brown hair falls free as if a reminder that it’s really him in front of you. His dark eyes appear bloodshot and adorn undereye circles, unconcealed by makeup. His face is flushed, skin inflamed either with his previous rage or current sorrow.
“I’m so sorry,” Goro whimpers down at you. “I shouldn’t have pulled you into this. I never wanted them to hurt you, I told them not to–”
You can’t tell whether he’s referring to the investigators in the interrogation room, his father Masayoshi Shido, anyone else involved in The Conspiracy… perhaps all of the above.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ you want to say, ‘just talk to me.’ You reach up again and comb his hair aside, instead.
He falls silent at your contact, but you don’t expect him to break down.
He isn’t touching you at all, simply stooping over your form as tears crawl to the edges of his jaw and get lost in the beak of his helmet.
You move to collect his tears on your thumb, just as he wiped your tears in that foul thrift store restroom last week, but you remember the blood on your gloves and refrain.
“I don’t know–” Goro’s mumbling, staring past you at the floor. “I– I don’t know what to do now. I’m going to be dead fucking meat. Shit…”
He’s talking to himself, but you don’t mind. You prefer it over nothing, especially since you can’t respond.
You trace your finger along the blunt edges of his beak, surprised that they’re not sharp enough to cut.
“We should find your friends,” he manages, his face damp. “They’re going to think I killed you.”
You find his hand to stop him. His claws pluck at your gloves like cactus spines as you touch them.
You flinch when a weak laugh bursts out of him.
He doesn’t seem to expect it, either, and wipes his face with the arm you’re not holding. His shoulders shake.
“That boomerang fucking hurt, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling a little beneath his glove. “You’re a lot better at controlling it… Have you been practicing?”
You nod with a small smile, and he looks proud. He sniffles again and lets his hand fall back to his lap.
He starts, “Did… Joker mean what he said?”
You look at him inquisitively. You can’t see as clearly without your mask.
“Helping you… take down Shido,” he grunts. “Did he mean that?”
You nod.