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Goro opens the door to his apartment with a trembling hand. Everything’s dark, foggy, red, red everywhere. The lights in his apartment, the darkness from outside. It feels like he’s back in the engine room, but he knows for a fact that he left; he just doesn’t know how.
So much is missing from his mind that it’s killing him. He doesn’t know if he wants to remember, maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t, but how would you feel if suddenly you woke up with a large gap in your head, when memories were all you had left to keep you feeling human, and not like the monster you really are?
He remembers his encounter with the Phantom Thieves. He remembers turning himself psychotic, the feel of Loki setting his brain alight. He remembers the bitter taste of defeat, and a door closing. He remembers, after or before, an anguished scream so loud it momentarily deafened him, and he remembers begging to hear it just a few moments more before everything went dark. He remembers Akira. He remembers the little pieces, and not much else… Akira?
Did he do… what he thinks he has done?
Goddammit, it was obvious! Akira and the goddamn Phantom Thieves, and it all comes back startlingly clear. It disgusts him, and he wishes he was still amnesiac.
Of course they wouldn’t lie there and let their almighty leader die, of course they’d have to find a way to cheat death itself, of course Goro loses to Akira again. Time and time again, he always does, and Goro doesn’t take kindly to losing anything.
Especially not when he tore parts of himself to shreds in order to win and he still lost. He used what killed many without fail, and killed none. Goro Akechi failed. He failed. He’s a goddamn failure. He brought out everything he had, he trained for this for years. Years, and Akira still beat him. How absolutely sickening. He wishes it were a few moments ago, when he was blissfully unaware of his downfall, no matter how obvious it had been in hindsight.
He takes some pain pills.
He swallows them dry.
The taste burns when it goes down his throat, scratchy and slow, and it almost feels like a knife is slitting him open. Well, at least it’ll save him the time.
His head hurts now, it always does after using Loki. At first it was like a buzz, an incessant hissing whispering temptations in his ear—promises of vengeance and of power, a necessity for a then fifteen year old orphan like Goro. He accepted the same as anyone else would have done, and introduced his second and last Persona into his heart, believing then that’s all anyone was capable of. And maybe, just maybe, that it was him who was the only one capable. Loki certainly told him so. The first time he used him, it felt like freedom, or perhaps finding something after you had long lost hope of ever seeing it again. And the more he used him, the more painful it became. Whispers turned into teeth sinking into his heart, crushing his skull, ripping his lungs to shreds and god, he can’t fucking breathe. Why can’t he breathe? He wheezes, at some point, he doesn’t know when, he’s on the floor, nails scratching at the floorboards and his nail beds sting, stained red and bleeding still. The world outside is dark, but it still feels like there are spotlights aimed right at him.
It doesn’t seem like he’ll be having any appearances on TV soon, his screwed up nail beds make him quite unattractive. Unclean. Filthy. Just imagine the headlines… He can’t be the Detective Prince if he doesn’t look the part.
What a funny tabloid that’ll make. Akira would laugh and laugh, the rest of the Phantom Thieves would cackle and whisper amongst themselves. Is this what being a teenager feels like? Goro supposes he never got the chance. He’s just about to wallow in his own sadness like a goddamn child when he tastes salt. Copper? Shit. He’s not bleeding anywhere else, is he?
Oh, but he is. Robin sighs and Loki mutters something unintelligible, he never did speak in words, and Goro feels like screaming. But he can’t. He unfortunately has neighbors.
He tries anyway, and finds that he can’t because instead of an agonizing yell there’s blood, red and thick and he spits it onto his once clean wooden floor. It flows from his mouth like it did the hole in Joker’s head. It’s the color of Joker’s gloves. Maybe not quite that shade, but he associates the color with Joker instead of wreckage now. … When did that happen? When did I become so laughably weak?
“Goro!? Goro, are you okay!?” A voice reminiscent of a songbird calls out. It’s one he has heard many times before. One he has loathed just as much.
Akira.
Akira.
Akira.
He reaches out to the pretty boy with the bullet in his head, bruised and bloodied and he looks perfect. Goro can’t imagine how he looks now, blood seeping from his temple down his eyes and dripping from his mouth as he chokes. He wishes he had a bullet hole to match, but Goro’s never been too lucky.
Akira’s taking his hand. Akira will hold him. Akira will make it better. He doesn’t deserve it, but when has he ever deserved anything?
He vanishes. Gone.
“Where—“ He sounds pitiful. “Where did you go? Akira?” Saying his given name like that feels like a sin. It strains his throat and it burns like hellfire. Maybe it’s just from the blood being spewed from his mouth like a goddamn fountain. Yeah, probably that.
It was actually sickening, foolishly believing he could be loved like this after everything he’s done. What a complete and utter fool Goro was, tied down to a life of misery he has no chance of escaping, but thinking maybe the boy he has wronged the most could accept him with open arms and an outstretched hand.
It’s not safe to lose control of your thoughts. If you lose control of your thoughts, you lose control of yourself in turn, and control is one of the only things Goro has to keep him safe.
He feels a hand gripping his shoulder that sticks, helping him up and cradling him sweetly. Akira. Akira. Akira. Akira’s the only one who would touch him this way. Akira is safe.
He’s pushed and he falls to the floor face first. He coughs and he sputters, whipping his head back so fast it feels like his neck is breaking, but that won’t compare to the fucking pain he’ll inflict on Akira for wronging him like that. He’ll smash through his skull, he’ll rip out his spine and stab Akira in his eyes, his face, until his pretty face is marred beyond repair, Goro the last one to see him as the beautiful boy he once was—
But nothing. Gone.
He craves that feeling again, that moment when Akira touched him, like he didn’t care that Goro wasn’t worthy.
Loki is screaming inside of his brain. Robin is screaming inside of his brain too and it feels like Loki is trying to tear himself out of him and it feels like Robin is crawling his way out from Goro’s throat and it hurts, god god god it hurts, he hopes they aren’t leaving him, he hopes, because they are all he has left and if he doesn’t have his Personas then he has nobody.
Prince, your highness, little bird.
Pathetic, worthless, trash.
Goro scratches at his throat, trying and failing to tear out his larynx, he knows because he’s still screaming. You can’t scream without vocal chords, can you? Why does he feel like he is? Why does he fail at everything he tries?
It’s so loud it’s suffocating. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. It hurts, I’m fucking dying. If I don’t calm down, I’m going to die. Breathe. Fucking breathe, you idiot. Hesitation means death. You can’t die, not when there’s a promise to be fulfilled—you need to avenge your mother, you need to avenge yourself—
There’s so much blood. An obscene amount. Everything’s fuzzy and he’ll black out at any second, but he perseveres just the same as he did for so many years. He’s not weak. He can still live. He can make it through, alone, just like he always does. He doesn’t need a bond to hold him and keep him steady. He’s never required anyone but himself to live, and that’s what separates him and Akira. Akira. Akira.
He feels at his stomach, his chest, looking to find an open wound but there’s nothing. He’s clean, the blood staining his uniform— that’ll be a goddamn hassle to clean, and I don’t have the time— is not from a bullet wound he knows should be there.
And, as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he doesn’t want to die. He’s not going to let something as pitiful as this take him out. He needs to live to see his father die or confess his crimes.
How funny is it, that it’s sheer pettiness that keeps him alive, and not the scant few things that are actually worth living for?
And after that’s done, what then?
He can’t think. He doesn’t want to think, because then he’ll lose it. He’ll be one of his own victims. What a goddamn joke.
Once more, he sees Akira in the corner of his eyes, so lovely with blood streaming down his face from the bullet Goro put between his eyes. There’s a smile, honest and kind; virtues Akira possesses in abundance, while Goro possesses nothing of the sort.
Could they even be considered rivals at this point, when Akira is clearly the better one? He’s stronger. Kinder. He’s everything Goro isn’t capable of.
I think he’s laughing at me, Goro thinks, I want to laugh at myself too.
He sputters a bit more, and the cackle he lets out sounds like more of a wheeze.
He can’t move, he’s going to die. It’s all he can think. It’s all-consuming and there’s nothing he can do. The blood that spills from him is not watered down, there’s no bitter taste of bile when it comes up. He wonders if maybe he’s coughing up his insides?
The thought isn’t pretty. How unbecoming of someone like Goro.
Those TV show hosts know nothing about him, not like they’d be able to decide what’s becoming of their precious Detective Prince and what isn’t. Goro himself doesn’t even know who he is, how could those mindless idiots even think they have a possibility of knowing the true Goro Akechi?
He hears something.
Blaring.
Laughter.
His heartbeat slowly growing quieter, but it rings in his ears nonetheless.
“Stop laughing at me, you fucker!” He screams as loud as he can, just to hurt himself more, and he looks around to find the source of the voice but his vision is splotchy and if he had to judge by sound then that means this motherfucker is everywhere. “Stop fucking laughing! It’s not funny! You try living in my shoes, I’ll kill you, you can’t hide from me in the real world!”
His throat fucking burns, he realizes, it still tastes strongly of copper and it hurts like hell. His vision is going black and god, that really fucking sucks when you’re trying to yell at people. The Phantom Thieves?
“Fuck you, fuck you all, fuck you.” The Phantom Thieves are watching Detective Prince Goro Akechi sob . But oh, Goro isn’t a real detective, isn’t he? He’s a fucking fraud. He’s nothing. That’s what they’re saying, and it’s true. “I could kill all of you, every single one. I’ll stab you, one by one, one by one, and then rip you apart! You wouldn’t even cry! You wouldn’t have a chance to scream before I’m done with you!” Tears roll down his cheeks, snot falls from his nose and he feels gross, dead. Goro can’t imagine how revolting he looks right now. It’s true, it’s true, it’s true. He feels like nothing and if he died right now he wouldn’t care.
He doesn’t know when Akira grabs hold of him, pulling him close and kissing his clean head. When did all the blood wash away? When… The Phantom Thieves recede, leaving their leader to calm a monster. How utterly merciful, even when Goro is undeserving of such mercy.
He leans into the touch like the affection-starved child he is. Pathetic and pitiful, shame sinking through his body and clinging onto his bones. It’ll stay that way for years to come, if Goro is unlucky.
Akira hums and pats Goro’s head. It almost feels like his mother has come back. Goro smiles, makes himself comfortable. He’s always felt at home in Akira’s presence, for better and for worse. His arms are another thing entirely, and Goro feels a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. Why are you here? He tries to speak. Whisper. But he can’t. He’s completely silent, aside from the sounds of gurgling and Akira bringing him impossibly closer. Akira’s holding him like he’s about to break. Goro doesn’t break, he’s a boy like everyone else his age, but still strong. That doesn’t stop Akira from holding him like he’s turning to dust. It feels good, to be comforted like a baby bird with a broken wing. Only Akira. Only him.
It’s because they’re rivals.
Goro isn’t in love.
Akira is an exception, because he is the first person Goro has deeply—and truthfully—respected. Goro’s also not in a state to deny such affection, whether it be mentally or the fact he finds himself unable to move in a way that isn’t clinging onto Akira like he’s scared he’ll vanish again.
He allows himself to be cradled by Akira, pretending not to listen to Akira’s sweet nothings and proclamations of love. It’s murky, everything sounding like Goro’s being forced underwater, but Goro still makes out those words he does not deserve to hear. He sinks deeper, lets himself be rocked to sleep in Akira’s gentle arms, and dreams of a place far kinder than this one.