Chapter 1: begin again
Chapter Text
Seven years later, Akira Kurusu still can’t shake it off.
Bittersweet, unresolved feelings.
Memories of leaving to never return again.
Pictures, billboards, magazine pages.
Seven years later, Akira Kurusu finds himself on the same ground.
Unbeknownst to him, Goro Akechi feels the same way.
— — — — —
— — — — —
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Akira hastily checked his watch as more passengers started filing inside the already cramped subway car headed to Shibuya. The air had a sort of distinct smell, the smell of the air conditioning of the subway train mixed with the faint smell of cologne and newly ironed suits, touched with a hint of hot coffee in the thermoses of those who rushed to get to the subway that morning. One could hear the familiar, robotic voice of the AI announcer, telling people where the next station the subway was headed, muffled by the voices and footsteps of people scampering to find a vacant spot on the train. A typical Monday during rush hour, Akira thought to himself. Fortunately for him, the young man had already found a seat for himself when he got to the station early, a seat right by the subway doors so he could exit as fast as he could. He had to get to his job interview early, after all. Unfortunately for him, he had fallen asleep on the train, and missed his stop twice already.
7:45 AM, the tiny digital clock read. “Shit,” Akira muttered under his breath as the doors closed with a gentle woosh, and then a whirr from the gears as the train started moving. He had to get to his interview before 8:00 AM, and it was still a pretty long walk from the station to the office building. He had to get there as soon as possible. He pulled out his resume and job application from his briefcase for the nth time, just to check if he had all the documents he needed, he told himself. What he really wanted to do though was look at his ID picture again in awe.
And there it was, on the top left corner of his resume. A picture of a well-groomed, smart-looking, handsome young man, wearing the same suit he’s wearing today. “Kurusu Akira,” it read on the right hand side of his ID picture. He smiled at his own face on the document. Akira Kurusu had this mysterious, charming level of aura, the type of aura that could make every stranger’s head turn when he passed by, and everyone including him knew it. “Surely the people at the job interview would hire you immediately because of your charm!” his caretaker Sojiro had remarked before Akira left the house that morning. Underneath the picture was his birthdate and age, 24 years old. His home address, Leblanc cafe, Yongen-Jaya, Tokyo. Underneath was the rest of his personal information and his credentials. “Good,” he thought, struggling to place his papers back in his briefcase with the limited space he had.
Akira definitely wasn’t looking forward to a mundane 9-5. He wanted to stay in Yongen-Jaya making coffee in Leblanc for a living, but to his surprise Sojiro decided against it. “You still have a lot to learn about coffee-making. Go get another job while you’re still a novice,” he had said. Although, Akira already feels like he’s mastered making coffee and curry almost exactly like Sojiro’s. And he definitely wasn’t looking forward to working for the government if he couldn’t do anything to change the country’s status quo. Just a stupid office job printing out reports for the snobby politicians whom he hated most. Nonetheless, he still had to make an income somehow in this economy. He just hoped that everything would go smoothly and he would get the job to make Sojiro pleased. When a friend from college contacted him to inform him of a high-salary government job, Akira had no choice but to reluctantly agree to take the job offer for Sojiro and his legal daughter Futaba’s sake, for Leblanc’s regular pay isn’t enough for the funds of Futaba’s last year of college.
“If only I were a celebrity in somewhere like America with flexible job opportunities, just like–” Akira stopped himself with his train of thoughts. He couldn’t think about him. Not now. It’s already been more than half a decade. But how could he move on when everything around him keeps reminding him of his existence?
Trying to fight back his fatigue due to waking up so early, he looked again at his watch. 7:52 AM, the screen of his watch seemed to glare at him. He looked around the digital signs of the subway nervously, waiting for the train to make haste and finally stop at Shibuya, or for the AI announcer to announce his destination, but none so far.
Sitting on his left side was a woman who didn’t look any older than thirty years old, watching the celebrity news channel on her phone. Her volume was turned up loud enough for Akira to slightly hear the audio. The television announcer had a gleeful tone to his voice as he recalled the winners of last night’s Oscar awards.
“Well well well, don’t we have a surprise guest coming to visit Japan this week! He’s a Japanese-born celebrity who’s starting to get recognized worldwide. Ladies and gentlemen, it is none other than–”
7:55 AM. The subway finally came to a halt at the station. “Destination: Shibuya,” the announcer repeated over the loudspeaker and muffled the woman’s audio, so Akira didn’t catch which celebrity was going to visit. He assumed it was someone like the Olympic figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu. As the doors opened, Akira raced out of the subway car, followed by multitudes of people also trying to get to their workplaces on time. Akira wasted no time running out of the station and on the Shibuya crossing until he reached a multi-storey office building on the other side of the street. On its left was a broadcasting center for one of the biggest news channels in the country, and on its right was another office building. Its towering, looming presence in front of the young man intimidated him a little, nevertheless he briskly walked inside the building and took an elevator to the sixth floor, where he would meet his interviewer.
He passed by a one-way mirror window on the way to the interviewing room. The young man, who was now gasping for air and is now having a quite frazzled look because of his rush from the subway station, was willing to risk being late if he could at least look presentable in front of the other professionals standing in the same building. He quickly put down his briefcase and fixed his frizzy hair with the compact hair gel he had on him. He pushed up his glasses, straightened his jacket, and even reapplied his cologne everywhere on his body. Running had made him perspire, and Akira was worried that it might have left a faint yet pungent smell on his body.
As he was so solicitous about his own appearance, he didn’t notice the young administrator calling him from the room down the hallway. “Kurusu Akira,” she had called in a loud voice. “Kurusu Akira!” she had called again. It wasn’t until the third time she called his name that Akira finally caught on and started hurriedly walking towards her. When he reached her by the doorway, he bowed deeply to show his pardon. The young lady manager just nodded in approval, and showed him inside.
The woman’s room was air-conditioned and lightly decorated with a few plant pots on corners here and there. One side of the wall was covered with frames of certificates and on the other, several framed abstract art. On the manager’s desk sat some important-looking documents and folders, a desk calendar, and a small picture frame of what seemed to be two sisters. Akira assumed that the slightly taller, seemingly older one was the woman sitting across him as of now. She had dark brown hair slicked back and tied into a French twist. She was dressing business casual, wearing a white long-sleeved, collared women’s polo and black dress pants with gray pinstripes, with white ballerina flats to match with her white top. Her dark, almond eyes narrowed as she examined Akira’s appearance, giving a look that screamed dominance. This woman was not to be messed with.
“You’re late,” the woman said sternly. She pointed at the wall clock behind the desk. The hands on the analog clock showed ten minutes after the eighth hour. 8:10 AM. In corporate office standards, that was really late. Akira steadied himself and sat upright on his seat so as to not show his unease around her. “I apologize, Miss. I assure you this will not happen again for as long as we keep seeing each other,” he responded coolly, keeping up his debonair demeanor. The woman’s expression remained stoic; Akira didn’t know whether she was impressed or not.
To Akira’s surprise, the interview went smoothly. The woman introduced herself as Evie Matsumoto, or “Matsumoto-kacho”, as she wanted Akira to call him. Matsumoto-kacho asked the young interviewee a series of questions he was prepared for, such as “Tell me about yourself”, “What strengths of yours can you bring to our company?”, “What are your weaknesses?”, “What made you interested in this line of work?” and the like. He answered them as professionally as he could, slipping in little white lies when he needed to in order to make himself look more impressionable in front of the administrator, such as when she asked about what made him interested in applying in the first place. He had rehearsed a lot with his close high school friend Makoto, after all. She brought the same type of domineering atmosphere as Matsumoto-kacho wherever she went, so Akira got used to being pressed by these same questions. Matsumoto would often not be looking at Akira as she was interviewing him; her focus was steadied on the clipboard she was holding in her left hand, which she always wrote in whenever Akira answered her inquiries.
“My final question, Kurusu-san,” Matsumoto finally looked up from her clipboard and looked straight into Akira’s eyes just like how she did before the start of the interview. “Who do you consider your role model, or alternatively—who do you envy most, and what qualities did that person possess that you wanted to have?” Who do I envy most? A personal question? Akira couldn’t believe what he was hearing, nor was he even prepared for such a question at such a formal interview. He began to tense up. What was he going to say? As soon as the words escaped Matsumoto’s lips, Akira already had a person at the back of his mind. But how could he even describe it to someone who he just met?
He gulped nervously and finally met Matsumoto’s intimidating gaze. She was impatiently tapping a pen on her clipboard repeatedly, waiting for his answer.
“If there was a person whom I envy most, it would be my legal caretaker, Sojiro Sakura,”
My old friend, Goro Akechi.
“The qualities he possessed were otherworldly; I never saw another person uphold his senses of resilience and responsibility as diligently as he. When his lover—his legal daughter’s mother—died, instead of wallowing in grief, he did his best to preserve memories of her by preserving her popular, special recipes of curry and coffee. Even when it was hard for him to rekindle his relationship with his legal daughter, he kept on trying… and…”
I’ve always envied how easy life was for Akechi.
How everyone seemed to fawn over him, starting from when we were little kids.
How all the dreams we had together were just at arm’s reach for him, while I still had a long way to go.
How he already had so many opportunities available to him from an early age.
And how easy it was for him to move on and leave behind everything he knew to seize those opportunities.
How easy it was for him to leave me behind for America.
And how easy it is for him to forget.
Every single TV commercial, every single news headline. every single billboard, every single magazine cover, every single poster mentions him.
Doesn’t he remember that it was supposed to be the two of us together?
Now that I look back, is it really envy I’m feeling or just masked resentment?
Despite everything he wanted to say about Goro Akechi, he kept that piece of information confidential and kept on with his appraisal of his caretaker Sojiro, even though some of the things he said were only half-truths about him. After all, Matsumoto might have asked him a plethora of questions after the interview ended, all about famous Japanese ace detective Goro Akechi, who is now regarded internationally due to his involvement in Hollywood movies and fashion runway shows. And maybe word might get out that the new intern at the job used to be friends with a world-renowned celebrity. Akira didn’t want that. Even the mention of Akechi’s name made him uneasy. He still couldn’t move on from Akechi, how he cut contact with Akira immediately after his flight to America, and how they never even shared a proper goodbye. He hoped Akechi would know that even though seven years has passed, he’s still distressed, hurt, and confused by his abrupt change of attitude weeks before his departure that led up to him leaving Akira forever. He could never like Akechi, no matter how many years would pass by. Yet even now, he’s still reminiscing on their memories together like a crazy ex that couldn’t move on, since he technically was after all. He couldn’t deny it, despite how many times he tries to run away from the technical truth.
When Akira was done speaking, he tried to flash Matsumoto a small smile—yet made a sorry attempt at a smile that has seen better days. Fortunately for him, the administrator wasn’t looking at him at that moment, her eyes yet again focused on jotting down notes at an impossibly rapid speed on her clipboard. When she was done, she gave a small nod of approval at the young interviewee, and started arranging her files. Akira looked around impatiently, listening to the ticking of the wall clock overhead and the tapping of his fingers as he drummed them on his lap as silently as he could. Finally, she started speaking.
“Insightful answers, Kurusu-san,” she remarked. “The results of your interview shall be forwarded to you shortly, although if I’m being honest, I do think you’ll get it. No guarantees though, since you did come late this morning,” Matsumoto actually showed a hint of expression on her face as she gave a small wink and smile. Akira gave a playful wince in return. “It depends on what my boss thinks. I’m definitely looking forward to working with you, Akira Kurusu.” She shook his hand before gently standing up from her seat and showing him out. “Only official employees and workers of the House of Representatives are permitted to use the cafeteria on the 8th floor, so I do recommend you get lunch from the plaza from across the street,” she said. Akira bowed deeply again, this time to show his gratitude. “Thank you for having me today,” he said reverently before leaving. In the elevator, he texted Sojiro and Futaba about his somewhat-successful job interview in the family group chat.
Akira: was late to my job interview lol. admin was nice tho. i’ll probably get the job!!!
Futaba: yay!!!! amazing for u big bro ^_^
Sojiro: You were late?
Akira: wasn’t really a big deal for her.. dw
Sojiro: Alright then. Could you pick up some groceries on your way home? I’ll send you the grocery list. Thanks kiddo.
Futaba: ooohh!! could u also pick up some cup ramen too? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
Akira: lmao sure. what flavor?
Futaba: seafood!
Sojiro: Akira, don’t buy too much of that junk. One cup is enough for Futaba.
Akira chuckled and quickly put away his phone as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped outside again. He was already quite hungry today. He glanced at his watch. 11:22 AM. He decided that he would stop for lunch before proceeding with his grocery shopping errand. He decided that he would stop at the local Ore no Beko nearby, a chain restaurant notable for their affordable yet high quality gyudon (beef bowls). As he also used to work part-time during his high school and college days, most employees knew him personally and still regarded him as one of the restaurant’s regulars even when he stopped working.
The Ore no Beko Akira went to was located in Shibuya’s Central Street. It was quite small compared to the other branches Akira went to, as it could only accommodate less than a few dozen people. Inside were only a few long tables with several tiny stools on each side of the table, so one could be sitting either beside or across from a total stranger. As it was a busy workday, the place was packed, with only two adjacent stools left on the table from the farthest side of the room. Akira quickly occupied one of the seats, next to a well-dressed, middle-aged employee discussing business with his coworkers, and picked up the digital menu in front of him on the table. He decided to go with his usual order: medium beef bowl with a side of miso soup and a raw egg he could stir in with the beef and rice. He chewed his food slowly and quietly, so as to blend in with the crowd, and to not bring himself attention as he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the businessmen’s conversation as they sat beside him
The employee next to Akira was chortling as he was discussing a mishap that happened in the office that morning. He had three companions with him, two of them looking slightly younger, and one looking significantly older. The middle-aged employee let out a loud laugh as he playfully put a hand on a younger-looking colleague wearing glasses. “If it weren’t for Tanaka-san here, I would’ve lost my job!” he exclaimed, making his other companions chuckle with him. “I owe you one, man. Saturday let’s go to the local pub in town, eh? My treat.”
The employee named Tanaka politely declined. “Sorry, I’m not available this weekend. After all, I have to conduct an interview with–” Akira couldn’t make out the rest of what he said. Tanaka-san was speaking in a hushed, whispery voice, as if he was telling a secret to his coworkers. It would only be appropriate, Akira thought. He knew that journalists take their job seriously, after all. Any upcoming interview was a private matter to them until they’re released to the public. Still, he couldn’t help but keep listening in, especially after the others followed up what he said.
“Oh, him? That’s amazing! I didn’t know he was coming back to Japan this week!” Another younger colleague said, eyes twinkling. “It must be an honor to get to interview him, Tanaka-san!”
“That kid? Honestly, I have a feeling he’s a spoiled brat.”
The other coworkers turned around to face the oldest-looking one, who had a shot glass in hand. From what Akira knew, alcohol wasn’t permitted inside Ore no Beko. He continued listening and looking from the corner of his eye, hidden by his bangs.
“That bastard politician father of his—he would do anything to keep himself in glory. I don’t know why people in this country idolize him so much. We’ve all worked for him, we all know how demanding he is. I’m sure his son is the same as well,” he continued, putting his shot glass down and rubbing his fingers on his forehead.
Tanaka’s eyes widened. “You- you don’t mean-” he stuttered.
“Yes, I meant Masayoshi Shido,” the old man interrupted.
Then it finally made sense to Akira. Tanaka was going to interview none other than the Goro Akechi. He must have been what the news he overheard was referring to as well. Which meant he was going to Tokyo this week. Hell, he may have already boarded the plane going to Japan! Akira felt queasy; he wondered whether it was because of the raw egg he consumed or the thought of Akechi’s name again. But how did these people know that Shido was his legal father? His whole life, Akechi’s made the identity of his father a secret, since he didn’t want the public to recognize him for the man he hated most. So how did people catch wind of it? Luckily for him, the younger man sitting across from the one named Tanaka had the same question.
“Well, it’s been a known rumor for a while. But I think everything adds up. That’s it. It’s pretty much speculation made by the general public, but I wouldn’t even be surprised if Goro Akechi was Shido’s son,” the old man said in response, pouring himself another shot and taking another swig.
The uneasy feeling settling in Akira’s stomach began to grow internally and intensely; he felt as if he was about to throw up. He excused a waitress standing nearby to fetch the bill, paid, and hurriedly left the restaurant. He told himself he wanted to get “fresh air”, but everyone knew that the atmosphere in a big city, especially in the heart of Tokyo, wasn't exactly ideal for the fresh air he wanted.
He started to pace around the streets aimlessly, praying with all his might that Goro Akechi wouldn’t bump into him during the duration of his stay in Japan. He would come here, get interviewed for a while, go to fan events, and leave. All Akira had to do was stay out of said events. Better yet, he thought that Akechi probably won’t recognize him at first glance anymore anyway. Seven long years have passed, and Akechi definitely would’ve had so much occupying his time that he forgot about his old friend completely. Strangely, that thought brought Akira both comfort and heavy-heartedness.
— — — — —
It was a slow afternoon in Leblanc that day; Sojiro and Futaba were by the doorway of the Leblanc cafe, waiting for Akira to return with the groceries. The TV was on, blaring the news channel on full volume, and Sojiro was listening intently while he was busy behind the counter washing dishes and dusting his work area, while Futaba was laying down, sprawled out on the red leather booth seat nearest to the door. Her laptop was on, hundreds of tabs open—of her assignments, her codes, and whatever else she had on that computer. Sojiro looked over the counter at his daughter and frowned.
“Futaba, it’s a blessing that the shop’s closed right now and there’s no customers around. Just look at your posture! You’re not a little kid anymore. At least sit down properly, God!” Sojiro scolded. Futaba scowled a little, but sat back up in reluctance. Morgana—Akira’s pet cat—jumped on the table where Futaba was and slept right next to her laptop. The concerned girl tried to shoo the cat off the table, but to no avail.
The shop had been closed earlier in the afternoon due to lack of supply of coffee beans and rice, so both Sojiro and Futaba were eagerly anticipating Akira to come home with shopping bags loaded with groceries. So when he walked through the door empty handed, both were none other than disappointed and angry.
Futaba was the first to point it out. “Akira, where are the groceries we asked you to buy?” Akira froze by the doorway. He looked around nervously—he was in such a daze about Akechi coming here that he'd completely forgotten to do grocery shopping! He couldn’t do anything but stammer in response. “Uh- um- I… I actually had t- well… something came up and-” He was interrupted by Sojiro, who was more livid than ever.
“WHY DIDN'T YOU BUY THE GROCERIES LIKE I ASKED YOU TO!?” he roared, loud enough that one could swear they felt the ground shake the second those words tumbled out of his mouth. Sojiro quickly realized that his anger got the best of him and quickly retaliated. “You know we had to close the cafe early because we were running low on supply?” He sighed, a deep, disappointed sigh, then looked at the wall clock behind the counter. “It's still early, anyway. Go out and get some groceries, please. I hope you also remember what was in that shopping list I sent you.”
Akira nodded sheepishly, then went out again and closed the door behind him, the door chimes jingling as he went. Sojiro took a deep breath and sighed again. “Honestly, that kid's not been in his right mind recently. Don'tcha think, Futaba?” he looked at his daughter, who was intently staring at the door.
“I agree, he's been acting a little weird lately… wonder if something came up,” she replied. Morgana stretched his body and purred, seeming to agree with the two. Sojiro nodded intently. “Has he told you anything?” he continued. Futaba shook her head in silence, then turned her focus to her laptop and started typing rapidly. “Nah, not about something crucial. Maybe it was about the job interview this morning, got him all frazzled up.”
Late afternoons in Shibuya meant that every corner of the street is now littered with both locals and tourists. He groaned as he was dragging his feet on the Shibuya crossing, regretting that he forgot his one important errand for Sojiro. If he had only remembered to do as he had been told, he wouldn’t have to worry about possibly bumping into Akechi or his bodyguards—which he assumed he would have—for the rest of the day.
The supermarket was just down the street from Ore no Beko. It was bigger and sold fresher and higher quality produce than the one near the cafe in Yongen-Jaya, so it was his preferred supermarket when shopping for ingredients. It also sold a variety of other products, such as simple souvenirs and gifts for loved ones. It even had a small section where one could purchase multipurpose vitamins. Akira barely went to the supermarket as he was barely tasked with such an errand by his caretaker, but when he did, he would constantly spend more time than he needed due to getting lost through the aisles.
As Akira was searching through the fruit selection, trying to find the best-quality apples he could find, from the corner of his eye he noticed red hair and thick, black glasses that would belong to someone none other than one of his close high school friends. He stood up straight, waiting for the red-haired girl to turn around and suddenly notice him. And when she did, her neutral expression quickly curled up into a huge smile on her face.
“Senpai!” Sumire exclaimed in surprise and excitement, almost dropping a plastic bag full of oranges in her hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” Her red hair was tied into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing a plain purple leotard. “It’s been so long since we last saw each other!” she said. “Did you just come from gymnastics training?” the young man asked with a small smile on his face. Sumire nodded excitedly.
“Yup! I have a competition in two months. Internationals. I’m gonna have to go to Singapore soon enough,” she said as she gently clasped her hands. “It would be a pleasure if you would come, Senpai, but it’s no pressure at all.” Akira chuckled lightly and politely declined her offer. “Sorry, I don’t think I can. Timing’s pretty bad for me to go abroad right now. Plus, I’ll have to be working soon,” Sumire nodded in understanding. “Good luck on your competition though. You’re gonna kill this, you’ve always did!” he continued, slinging his plastic bag full of apples over his shoulder and patting his opposite hand on the shoulder of his junior. “Although, since we’ve already bumped into each other here…” he sheepishly rubbed his hand on his neck. “Would you mind helping me with the groceries? I don’t go here much; I still get lost over here,” in reality, he just didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Sumire giggled and happily agreed to accompany him.
As Sumire accompanied Akira around the supermarket, they were engaged in a lively conversation about their memories in high school with the rest of their friends, and even talked of their future plans together. As the aspiring gymnast she always was, Sumire was planning to pursue gymnastics professionally. She mentioned that both her career mentor and her gymnastics coach agreed to her plans. Sumire was already a rising star after all; she’s already subjectively regarded as one of the best in the country. “If my sister Kasumi were still here though,” she said, eyes clouding. “She would’ve risen to fame much faster.”
“Hey, don’t fret over that. What matters most is the present,” Akira assured her. “You’re already amazing in everyone’s eyes, including mine.” And that was true. It was already amazing for Akira, who didn’t have much ambition for his future. He often felt inferior to his other friends. Sumire is a professional gymnast, Makoto is studying diligently to become a cop, Haru inherited her late father’s business, Ann is currently in Paris for her modeling gigs, even Yusuke was already getting by as a freelance artist. And Akechi–
No.
Don’t think about Akechi. It’s only going to make you more paranoid. A voice rang in Akira’s head.
Sumire beamed at him with a warm expression on her face. “Thanks, Senpai!” she giggled once more.
— — — — —
Sumire’s phone buzzed. “Oh, would you look at the time!” she exclaimed, taking out her phone from the purse she was carrying. The day was slowly fading into dusk. Akira thought he had all his shopping ready, and was now just following Sumire around as she searched for her omni-vitamins on the drug shelf and some other things she needed. “Senpai, it’s best that we both get going. Let’s go to the checkout now,” she said as she grabbed the last omni-vitamin bottle and placed it in her shopping cart. Akira looked at his own cart, and realized he forgot to grab a bag of rice. “You go ahead, Sumi,” he told her. Sumire waved goodbye as she sashayed her way over to the cashier.
He found the rice section easily as it was just a stone’s throw away from the drug shelf. The rice bags were in a metal basket-like compartment, so one would have to bend down to grab the bag they needed. He searched for a large bag of jasmine rice, the brand that Sojiro always gets. Unfortunately for him, it was underneath a pile of other heavy bags of rice. He put down the small plastic bag of fruit he was holding into his shopping cart. Grunting and panting under his breath, he tried his hardest to heave out each sack of rice and try to stack them nicely on top of each other in the meantime. A person with a loaded shopping cart came over and stopped beside where he was. Akira was still bent down doing his unplanned manual labor for the day, so he could only see the lower half of the person’s body. The person was wearing a shiny pair of new black shoes and was wearing a light brown buttoned trench coat that draped down to below his knees. Underneath the trenchcoat was a pair of smart-looking tailored slacks. The getup reminded him too much of the wardrobe of a person he knew. Akira got the bag of jasmine rice and stood up straight to look at the person beside him.
The figure, who looked like a young man about the same age as Akira, had brown hair that was long for a male's; it was about shoulder length. He faced Akira and seemed to look him dead in the eye. He was wearing black sunglasses and a hat to cover his face, but Akira instantly noticed the glint in his light brown eyes and immediately knew who he was.
“Akechi?” he suddenly blurted out. It was out of instinct—he didn’t know why he said that either. He knew well that it would have been better if he just hadn’t acknowledged him at all. And what if that person wasn’t really Akechi, but a random person? His absentmindedness got the better of him, he thought.
In response, the young man he called Akechi anxiously looked around. Relieved that no one was standing near the two boys, he let out a sigh of relief, and looked back at the bags of rice Akira forgot to put away, then to Akira himself. He smiled at him.
“You haven’t changed one bit.”
Chapter 2: sixteen again
Summary:
A trip down memory lane for both Akira and Akechi. Also, they meet again. Twice.
Notes:
helloooo!!! this is umidaysis again. sooo so sorry for the slow update! school has started... around two months ago? and it's literally the second term of our school year right now so AAAAHHH!! very stressful very hectic very daunting yesyes
anyway, i hope you all enjoy this chap! this is a quite gradual transition from the episodic vibe of ch1 to more dramatic, heavy scenes, so i hope you all prepare for that! i've also made this chapter longer like i promised hehehehe, this chapter is literally double the words of ch1 now.
thank you as well to everyone who has supported me on the release of ch1! i couldn't have had the motivation to continue the fic or even keep it up if it weren't for everyone's unwavering support.
enjoy reading!
Chapter Text
Every night, when Akechi’s eyes begin to feel too heavy to keep open, when his body can’t help from falling into a deep slumber, and when his breath slows down for the first time in a while, chest rising and falling in rhythm, there is one thing that is still awake. His mind, livelier than ever. His thoughts, messier and more stubborn than before, despite Akechi’s helpless battle between himself and the thoughts that engulf him in a wave of nostalgia and regret. When every part of his body, including his thoughts, weigh him down like an anchor slowly being pulled to the bottom of the ocean, Akechi just couldn’t—or perhaps wouldn’t—help but to remember. He gives in to rewinding to when he was at his happiest.
It’s the same scenario every single time. Much like a scene in an old VHS tape played over and over in Akechi’s head. It's an old song he vaguely remembers the details to. Words uttered by both he and Akira, and everything Akechi wished he could have said. How every single part of Akira’s body language, hand gestures and facial expressions seemed to say,“I’m here now, you need not worry about a thing anymore.” How the gentle beam of the moonshine and the multitudes of starlight illuminating the night loved to dance around Akira’s face, and how the wind loved to tease and play with him as she swooped his winter hat off his head and glasses off his face. Then Akira would let out a chuckle, melodically syncing with the surroundings of the two boys; soft jazz music playing from the club underground, light giggles and whispers of the wind as she continues to tousle with both boys’ hair, and idle, lively chatter of passersby as their footsteps trudge on the snow-padded districts of Kichijoji. This district, both had thought, was theirs. It allowed them a brief escape from everything for one night. The two young boys, both prejudiced in their own different ways by the ugly face of society, had both discovered a place where they could both be themselves, manifesting in different ideas in the eyes of either beholder. For Akira, Kichijoji had offered him a moment of solitude. For Akechi, Akira had offered him a feeling where he felt like he finally belonged.
It was like his breathing would immediately halt when Akechi would look at Akira. He felt as if he was drowning within Akira’s dark brown eyes. The color, which resembled a hot brew of dark Americano coffee, a specialty in a cafe which Akira loved so much. Moreover, it was his gaze. Sincere. Warm. Inviting. Very much unlike anyone else's. Time would immediately stop at his hand, and it felt like he could sink into Akira’s gaze. Unlike anyone else he’d ever met, Akira’s eyes told Akechi that he sees and treats him as an equal, and respects him—both as a rival and as a friend.
Akechi always knew what scene would happen next. Akira would step closer to Akechi, his cold breath visible in the air, almost blowing onto Akechi’s face. He would ask him, “Do you want to go home with me and spend a few more hours at Leblanc?” The smart answer was always no; he shouldn't go beyond his curfew, he had an important meeting to attend the next day. But as if something—perhaps an invisible force—was listening to the inner voice inside Akechi’s heart, he nodded without thinking. And then Akira would smile even wider. Softly, playfully. It’s everything it could take to make Akechi’s heart melt before, and to make his heart break today. As if to whisper. “I knew you would say that.” The soft glow of the lantern streetlights would flicker in the night, greeting both boys as they tread long, snow-covered districts to get to the train station. When you would stand close to one of the streetlights, Akira once told him when they were young, the lantern would be gracious enough to offer warmth and comfort for a brief moment. Much to Akechi’s impatience on the outside, Akira would always beg him to stop at every few blocks to savor the meager amount of warmth the lanterns would provide. Irritably, Akechi would roll his eyes and continue to walk straight, leaving the latter to have to run and catch up with him. “You’re wasting our time here. I don’t have all night,” he would grunt. But now, he wouldn’t have minded wasting time with Akira if he could have just a few more moments with him. It is on sleepless nights like these when Akechi’s heart would twist and churn, burrowing into a melancholy even deeper than before. Even the littlest, most mundane moments he missed out with Akira only added to his sheer regret. Yet things with Akira would never change even if he spared at least just one more minute, he supposed. Numerous little things he had missed during the course of their relationship, yet his silence, his ignorance, his leaving, it had become the only regret that mattered.
From that moment on, the rest of the memory was a total blur. Maybe it was due to Akechi’s fatigue. Or because of how long it’s been. Or perhaps Akechi just wanted to block out memories of Akira as much as he could. He couldn’t even tell himself. All he remembered was that he was more at peace than ever before. He recalled how it felt for him: teary-eyed, comforting, drowsy, fulfilling, yet he couldn’t seem to recall anything that happened in Leblanc that night. But after all, it might be easier for him to move on if he just let it slip his mind entirely. Even so, he still condemns himself for letting go of that memory so easily, the one that his younger self held to such importance, and made him the person he was today.
For Akira, his memory is much clearer. He remembers everything. The hardship, the struggle, the pain lying beneath the joys of their past relationship. If Akechi is haunted by nostalgia, Akira on the other hand is haunted by anguish, by sorrow, by grief. Restless, anxious, agitated, he ruminates on the last few months of their relationship that felt like a never-ending cycle of distress and devastation. He's stuck replaying fights, misunderstandings, words said and left unspoken. He was determined to leave Akechi in the past. He didn't apply to the college they both dreamed of going to. He went to tourist spots—which he and Akechi planned to go on dates in the future—alone. He dated multiple women to get his mind off of it. To try to feel something more. Just anything that would make him forget. And yet to no avail. He often felt frustrated. Why couldn't he forget that Akechi? What was there that was so special about him? He swore that he would never forgive him, anyway. That was supposed to be it. That was supposed to be the bottom line. It was as simple as that, and yet he can't do it. But wounds don't heal if you pick at it consistently, which was what Akira has been doing relentlessly for the past several years.
The words uttered on that fateful day. The twitches of Akechi's nose when he said something uncomfortable. The way Akira's chest tightened at every passing moment, suffocating him more and more. The way the sky looked gray, dark, dismal, as if it was trying to prepare Akira for impending doom.
He still remembered it from start to finish.
“I'm moving to America,” Akechi had said. So sudden, so abrupt, it made sixteen year old Akira stop in his tracks as they were about to leave the subway station from Kichijoji. He turned to his companion.
“What?” Akira hoped that he heard his friend wrong.
“I said I'm moving to America,” Akechi repeated. His tone was firm. Cold. Serious. It didn't sound like his usual banter that he always used to tease Akira. Was he really serious about this? Akechi noticed the look of dismay on the boy's expression. He sighed and continued.
“I-I'm supposed to be moving next week, Monday. I’ve already packed everything. Tomorrow and Sunday, we’re supposed to finish the remaining required documents for my immigration with my dad. This is the last time we’ll be seeing each other,” he continued with a stammer, as if that was going to clear up everything for his friend.
“And you only told me now?” Akira retorted. Akechi averted his gaze from him, as if it was in guilt.
“I just thought it would be more practical,” Akechi replied keenly, straightening out his coat jacket and fixing his posture, gaze still anywhere but at Akira. He was trying to keep up his perfect-pretty-boy-model facade now as they were in public, Akira inferred. They were out on the streets of Yongen-Jaya, under the shade of the subway station that opened into the main street. Passersby were hurriedly rushing past them, zipping up their raincoats and hastily opening their umbrellas. The sky was gray and cloudy, and it was starting to bless them with a light drizzle to gently end the summer months. Akira was already fed up with his bullshit. Couldn’t he look his friend straight in the eye and talk to him with no distractions? Couldn’t Akechi just turn his attention to him fully just once? He frowned at the brown-haired boy in front of him.
“More practical? Akechi, I’ve always thought you were a lot of things, but stupid was never one of them. Must you change my mind on that now?” he snapped. Tears were already forming in his eyes, one starting to roll down his cheek. Out of anger. Out of frustration. Out of grief. “Why are you moving anyway?”
Akechi shrugged. His eyes were still fixed on his own shoes, still avoiding Akira’s, to the irritation and annoyance of the latter. “My dad thought it would be a boost for my modeling career. He has connections to a director in Hollywood and a famous detective there too. He said it would make me rise to fame immediately. I agree with him.”
“And you didn’t even try to protest?”
“Akira, please. I tried to convince him to let me stay here. But…” he finally mustered up the courage to look into Akira’s eyes. “You know, I really think this would greatly impact my career. You know how I’ve been dreaming about how my detective work and fame would reach global audi–” he started before he was cut off by his friend. Akira’s eyes were dark. One couldn’t even tell what he was feeling at the moment. Even he couldn’t either. He started speaking, in a way that came out a bit harsher than expected.
“You were never one to care about what your father said. Let alone even agree with him.”
Akechi did a double take. “Akira, I-I…”
He was at a loss for words now. For a while, the both of them stood in uncomfortable silence. The rain kept pouring, harder and harder until the harsh fall of the droplets were washing up on their pants and shoes, soaking them in rainwater. Akechi was searching through Akira’s gaze, trying to find a bit of remorse as a response to his own apologetic countenance. But Akira’s expression remained the same. Cold, hard, angry. He was pissed off at Akechi for dropping the topic so casually. Pissed off at Akechi for mentioning it too late. Pissed off at Akechi for dismissing it as if it were just another topic of idle chit-chat for them to gloss over. He was talking as if he was just brushing off the intensity of the conversation at hand. Finally, the brown-haired boy spoke again.
“I really do think this is for the best,” he said, trying to sound professional as he noticed more passersby were gazing at him, pointing at him, and whispering to their companions, possibly about him too.
“And staying here was seemingly worse for you?” Akira retorted again.
Akechi drew back at his harsh tone once more. He stayed silent for a while, seething as he tried to formulate an appropriate response. Yet, “It’s not like that,” was all he could say.
Akira did a double take and stepped back, almost chuckling at how stupid Akechi’s response felt. “Then what is it? What’s so good about America that you can’t find here in Japan?”
“I told you already,” Akechi sighed. “Career boost.”
Akira scoffed, trying to mask his hurt by Akechi’s cold one-liners. “Akechi,” he started. “Your dad may know some big shot celebrities over there in Hollywood, but what about you? What do you have in America that’s seemingly better than over here? You don’t even know anyone there! What have you got to fend for yourself on your own?”
Akechi remarked, “Do you think that matters most to me?”
“Is it just career that matters to you?” Akira countered. “Is career the only thing on your mind? Have you ever considered your life in Japan, how you’ll be throwing it away and sacrificing everything for an unguaranteed slot to fame and recognition? Have you ever considered your family here? Have you ever considered your support systems? Your friends? Me?”
“Well, maybe I just have better priorities in mind than your dumb, unconventional bullshit!” Akechi snapped almost immediately. That had done it for Akira. That had twisted the knife in his heart, one that he’s been stabbed with since conflict with Akechi started to arise. He felt like it opened his eyes to the truth. That this was the real Akechi. Hostile, uncaring, cold, self-centered. He couldn’t stand fighting him anymore. He couldn’t stand him anymore.
He noticed Akira’s look on his face. “There’s no use, Akira. We agreed on that decision around a year ago, my dad and I.”
“It was that long ago,” Akira echoed, nodding slowly, expression stoic. “And you didn’t tell me anything until the last day possible.”
Akechi didn’t reply again. Akira wasn’t sure whether he was at a loss for words or if he was straight up ignoring his friend’s statement. Either way, it made him even more and more impatient and agitated.
“Akechi!”
Akira sighed deeply. Before Akechi could open his mouth to speak, he started again.
“I should’ve known there was something wrong from the start of this shit. The way you acted so distant and hostile around me these days. It was driving me insane. You wouldn’t even agree to hang out with me anymore. It was always work. Modeling. Interviews. Useless shit like that. Yet I’ve never actually seen you doing the things you proclaimed you were so busy with,” he began.
“When was the last time I’ve seen you on TV? The last time I’ve seen a magazine with you on the front page, or anywhere at all? The last time showbiz mentioned anything about you? I guarantee you that it doesn’t add up to the amount of times you’ve been stalling from me, Akechi. So much for your ‘work’ keeping me away from even visiting you. What was even the point of all that, Akechi, if it turns out you were just going to leave all of a sudden?”
“I’ve missed you, Akechi. I’ve missed the old you! The old you who wasn’t so ignorant and avoidant all the time! You know how I practically had to beg you to hang out with me again today, right? It was the first time you’ve even went out with me in months. I… I thought you’d finally go back again. To being the same old Akechi that I knew. But– but now that you’re leaving, will I ever even get to meet the new, snobby, cold Akechi again?!” he said brusquely. “I would’ve much preferred that than not seeing you by my side,” he continued, his tone gentler now.
Akechi was unresponsive, frozen in shock. It was the first time Akira had lashed out like that. His gaze averted his again, irises clouded with guilt.
“I… I’m sorry. I thought it would soften the blow on you if we began to grow distant before I finally left…” he muttered in a soft, shaky voice. Akira almost felt remorse for him.
“What do you take me for, Akechi?” he counterattacked. “An actual living dumbass? You know I’m not like that. And you know!” He took a deep breath. His eyes were already welled with tears streaming down his face, bloodshot, and dark. “I never knew you could take me to be as cold as you are! Must I let you know that I was holding on for our sake? I was doing all that shit in hopes that you would change somehow and it’ll be just like before. I was hopeful, Akechi. I really was.”
Akira then noticed a single tear rolling down the latter’s cheek. He immediately felt guilty for his harsh tone of voice, but instead looked away and scoffed.
“You couldn’t even communicate with me properly. Not even a proper ‘sorry.’” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Akechi stated as he bowed deeply, trying to hide the tears already starting to blur his vision. He knew very well that Akira was right about everything. He had been stalling. He had been ignorant. He had been dismissive to his own friend. But it was all for the sake of hopefully forgetting about him so that he wouldn’t be so regretful when he finally leaves Japan. He knew that there was a better way to go about his problem. He knew that he had to make up for his mistake somehow. Yet his cowardice had the best of him and overtook every one of his actions towards Akira. He beat himself up for his mistreatment towards his most beloved. He was always known to be so straightforward, so direct, so honest, so courageous. So why is it that for some reason, he couldn’t act the same to Akira?
Akira rolled his eyes again. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
Akechi stood up straight again, trying to wipe away evidence of him crying with his handkerchief. He straightened his back again and brushed off the wrinkles of his coat to make him look presentable. Out of impulse, he ripped off his right hand glove and almost threw it at Akira, the latter confused and showing a look of dismay.
“I ought to give this to you. A farewell gift fit for an occasion such as this,” he said professionally. “When you hold onto this glove, think of me.” There he went with that hoity-toity detective prince voice again. Akira was livid, practically trembling in anger by now.
Yet before he could counter with another harsh response, Akechi had already grabbed his umbrella and other things, making his way back inside the subway station, headed for his hometown most likely. He waved at him from the back lackadaisically with his ungloved hand as his brown hair started to blend in with a sea of strangers until Akira couldn’t spot him anymore.
“You jackass,” Akira muttered under his breath. He couldn’t stop the array of tears flooding down his face. He grabbed at his hair in anger and tried calling out Akechi’s name again, to no reply. Just a couple of bystanders walking past him, whispering about how odd that kid looked.
He looked at the glove again, already damp due to him rubbing his own tears on it. It was soft, smooth, velvety, and it smelled just like Akechi’s signature cologne. Enraged, he threw it on the ground and relentlessly stomped on it. Once, twice, thrice, until he was practically jumping on it, screaming and groaning in anger.
He texted his number on his cell phone.
“You’ll still keep in touch, right?”
He still had hope, after all, that maybe their relationship wasn’t over yet. Maybe it could still be saved if he had just decided to be the bigger person and communicate their feelings to each other. Maybe things will go back to how they were before. Even if Akira had to wait for a long period of time. Even if Akira had to suffer along the way. Even if Akira would be much older by then. Even if…
No answer. Just an automated message.
“This caller ID cannot be reached.”
He had blocked him.
That moment, that very moment had single-handedly crushed the pedestal Akira built for Akechi in his head. Now nonexistent, crumbled into pieces, nowhere to be seen.
From that day on, Akira has sworn to detest Akechi for as long as he lived.
— — — — —
“You haven't changed one bit.”
His words. His smile. His tone. His voice. His demeanor. His presence. There was no doubt. Seven long years later, Akira Kurusu meets Goro Akechi yet again. Akira took a step back. Confused, angry, appalled. He was too paralyzed in shock to even speak. Yet it wasn't like he even knew what to say anyway.
He looked somewhat… different. His hair, recently trimmed into neat side bangs, was thinner and longer. His eyebags were sunken and red-rimmed, tired after seven years of nonstop work under harsh Hollywood spotlights, flashing cameras, and jetlag from countless business trips. He also looked a little leaner, a little paler, a little taller. But that familiar glint in his eyes and that sweet, melodic voice was uniquely his, untouched by the usual wearing-down of time.
For a while, everything stayed silent. The two young men looked at each other up and down, both trying to avoid each other's gaze. It felt too awkward, or rather too intimate, to look each other in the eye. Not now, they told themselves. Not in the middle of a grocery store would they start acting out. Akechi looked around every few seconds, trying to shield his face from any potential fan stalking him. Akira was looking around as well, finding a shortcut to the exit, which was still at the other side of the supermarket building. He hated being trapped in silence like this, but he also hated the idea of talking to him again.
“Oh, apologies, am I mistaken?” Akechi chuckled nervously, trying to salvage himself in case he got the wrong person. On the other hand, Akira just sighed. He was talking to him so keenly, so professionally, so coolly distant. As if he wasn't talking to the person whom he spent many years with and thought he would spend many more with him. “You– you just look like an old friend I had back when I l–”
“Akechi,” Akira addressed him with a slight nod. “You’ve returned.”
He tried to keep his cool, but underneath his coat jacket he was trembling. Mixed feelings of pent-up anger, grief, happiness, and everything else in between were bubbling up inside of him. It was hard to stay calm in the middle of a busy place when your past love had returned again so abruptly. He chooses to make himself seem impassive in front of him. He notices Akechi’s face light up at his reply.
“Akira…! I– I– I’m at a loss for words…” he noticed him flush a little as he held his head in one of his hands sheepishly. “H– How have you been?” He stammered.
Akira’s face remained stoic, expressionless. He grunted. “I’m fine.”
Akechi’s mood faltered at his cold comment. He quickly straightened up his demeanor again and cleared his throat. To his surprise, Akira spoke again. “Why are you here?” he asks somewhat roughly. Yet Akechi took no notice of his gruff tone. For now, he was just happy that an old friend was still trying to initiate conversation with him.
“Oh! I– um… was just buying some groceries for me to bring back to the hotel room. You know, the standards.”
Akira said nothing in reply. His grip tightens on the shopping cart as he continues to listen to Akechi’s ramble. Things about work, modeling, fatigue, fainting spells… Akechi was talking respectfully, professionally. As if he was just making small talk with another fan. He spoke with a kind of tremor in his voice, like there was a lump in his throat. Akira scoffed to himself. This guy was unpredictable as ever. Polite one time, hostile the other, and now distant friendliness? His words washed over him—coming in one ear, coming out the other. Everything buzzing around them, the beeping of the cash registers, the rolling wheels of the cart on the linoleum floors, the sound of a child crying from another aisle, even Akechi’s voice—they all blurred to static. All Akira could hear was the echo of past memories; the same ones that continue to haunt him wherever he went.
“Akira? Are you alright?”
Akira shook out of his daydream, putting his hands in his pockets as he responded nonchalantly. “Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
Akechi narrowed his eyes a little as he cocked his head with a slight smirk. God, that fuckass expression. That was one of the many jabs Akechi would make at Akira to tease and play around with him. When Akechi didn’t quite believe a white lie Akira said. As if to say, “Oh, really now?” What Akira always hated was that he was always spot on, no matter how believable he made his lies seem. Nothing could get past the detective prince, after all. He scowls at his old friend’s cheeky look on his face, half of it intending to be playful, half of it intending to be serious.
Akechi chuckled a little as he put his hands up and backed away from him slowly. “My apologies… Kurusu-san. I didn’t realize how awkward it was for us to meet this way after so long,” he looks around the grocery store. Akira nods in agreement.
“Kurusu-san?” A voice rang at the back of his head. He was calling Akira, “Akira” just a while ago. Why did he need to switch back to formalities again? More importantly, why did he care?
Akechi must have noticed Akira’s odd expression again, as he quickly retaliated a second time and bowed his head a little. “I– I apologize! Is this setting too awkward for the both of us?” he asked nervously with a sheepish chuckle.
“You know my name, Akechi…” Akira says under his breath.
Akira checked his watch. “I… have to get going now. It’s getting late. My old man and Futaba are waiting on me,” he says as he backs away with his shopping cart, going to the checkout. Akechi nodded in understanding.
“I see. It was nice meeting you again, Akira,” he called out, yet either Akira was already out of earshot, or he simply ignored his comment. Either way, it didn’t matter. Akechi pushed his shopping cart towards the frozen dessert aisle, letting out a low chuckle. “He seems exactly the same.”
After Akira had paid, he quickly rushed out of the grocery, catching an overcrowded subway at the very last minute. He was perspiring, slumping over the subway car railings, and breathing heavily. He had stopped running, but his mind continued racing, replaying the scene at the grocery store over and over and over again. His heart was about to leap out of his chest, from exhaustion and from a feeling of anxiety that won’t go away until it swallowed him whole. It’s him. It’s him. It’s really him. His inner dialogue continuously repeated. It felt so strange. So surreal. It almost felt like he imagined the entire thing. Did he really meet Akechi at the grocery store? Did he really converse with him just like that? Did Akechi really act so nice and so welcome to him, unlike before? Such questions all flubbed poor Akira’s mind and his nervous contemplation almost gave him a migraine.
It should only be normal that he would be acting like this, right? His hands were already damp, clammy, shaking, and the temple of his forehead was beaded with sweat. He was quite red in the face from perspiration. He was trembling all over. His legs were restless, bouncing one leg nervously and vigorously. To the other passengers of the subway car, they would all agree that he looked unkempt, quite a mess, most likely out of apprehension.
A wave of humiliation began to wash over him as he left the subway. So his anxiety really was too obvious to be noticeable by ordinary strangers. Why must he let a simple interaction with Akechi make him feel this way? He didn’t care about him one bit—he knew that damn well. So why was he getting so agitated, so worked up, so nervous? Frustrated, he carried the shopping bags back to Leblanc where Sojiro and Futaba would be waiting. He didn’t stop by to greet any of his other neighbors in Yongen; he was too lost in thought to even notice them waving at him as he passed by. Not even the old man tending the secondhand store down the street, or the shady doctor who had just finished her rounds in her private clinic. He was just determined to get home, dump the grocery bags on the floor, jump into bed, and sleep in. Perhaps he would even drink a bit tonight. Anything to make him forget that he even met Akechi at all.
He walked inside the cafe, door chimes jingling as he opened and closed the door. God, even that sound pissed him off so much right now. Sojiro was busy in the kitchen, listening to the same soap opera channel from several hours ago and brewing dinner for himself, Akira and Futaba. The aroma of curry and coffee was in the air. Akira’s stomach growled a little loud for both Sojiro and Futaba to hear. He looked away in embarrassment as he placed the plastic grocery bags on the counter. “The groceries, Sojiro,” he said blithely.
Futaba, still working on college homework, who was aggressively typing away on her keyboard a moment before, looked up to look at Akira. She raced to him and practically pounced on him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Big bro Akira!” she squealed. “Did you get the cup noodles like I asked you to?”
Akira grunted at Futaba’s sudden action, already quite annoyed. “Yes, Futaba…” he sighs as he pushes her away and slumps down on the stool nearest to him on the kitchen island. He sighs deeply. “Can I get some coffee?” he asks Sojiro blatantly. His eyes were drooping down, his body seemingly worn out, his hair frizzy. Both Sojiro and Futaba knew immediately that there was something wrong.
Sojiro passes a cup of coffee gently placed on a saucer to him as he sits down across from him on the island. He let out a low whistle. “What’s up, kid?” he asked him as Akira mindlessly stirred the liquid of dark brew with a teaspoon. He grunts in response, drooping his head down so his eyes wouldn’t meet Sojiro’s.
“Just a typical bad day at the supermarket… that’s all,” he said absentmindedly, propping his head on one hand.
Neither Sojiro nor Futaba protest. They didn’t try and pester Akira with any more questions after that, nor did they even try to engage in small talk with him for the meantime. Dinner was eaten in silence, quite awkward, but better than trying to force each other into idle chit-chat which would only stress out Akira even more, both father and daughter silently agreed. Akira didn’t speak either. He ate his curry and drank his coffee silently, quite faster than usual, then went up to his room. Only when the latter two downstairs heard the firm shutting of the door to the room upstairs did they finally start speaking again.
Akira had thought it would be the last time he would see Akechi again. Unfortunately for him, it would only be the first of many other times.
And ironically enough, the second time he would bump into Akechi would be the next day after.
The second time he bumped into Akechi, he had arrived late to the office again. He didn’t expect a call back from his senior Matsumoto so early after the job interview, after all. Apparently, he was accepted to do the second segment of the job interview—internship. A few hours of office work every day for a week to test his capabilities in the workplace. Obviously, the poor young man wasn’t informed, so when he had arrived twenty minutes late, hair uncombed, a musky scent of sour-smelling cologne and smoke from car exhausts on the crossing he had so desperately sprinted past, his seniors, especially Matsumoto, were not impressed.
“This is the second time you’re late, Kurusu,” Matsumoto says sternly, looking at the clock and letting out an exasperated sigh. She hands him a pile of paperwork, which Akira struggles to even hold up with one hand, the other still clutching on to an iced coffee he’d snagged from Sojiro’s counter several minutes before.
“These are the logs of this month’s tax revenue for a few places here in Tokyo,” she says coolly, narrowing her eyes at Akira’s sudden awkward demeanor around her, when he’d just acted so professionally around her the day before. “Anyway… I need you to organize these by 2:00 PM, and then bring it to our assistant director.” Matsumoto gestures to a woman beside her, not much older than Akira.
“Mina,” she addresses her, “You’ll be handling the other half of the paperwork.” She turns to meet Akira’s gaze again.
“Your cubicles will be adjacent to each other, on that side of the office,” she points at two empty cubicles on the far left corner of the office. “I will be expecting both of you to be done by 2 PM sharp. Again, assistant director. He’s on the 9th floor, the first door to your right.” She nods at the two interns.
“See you later. And don’t be late next time, Kurusu-san,” Matsumoto warns her junior. “You’re two strikes away from not getting the job at all.”
Akira just sighs deeply. His colleague whom Matsumoto called “Mina,” pursed her thin lips as she watched Matsumoto walk away. Her big, round eyes, her light makeup, and her half-up, half-down hairstyle pinned back with a small bow barrette made her look more like a high schooler than an adult. She gives Akira a small nod and walks over to her assigned cubicle, immediately starting her work. Akira sighs again, slumping down on his own seat and booting up his PC.
Compared to Mina, who was typing non-stop on her keyboard and punching numbers in her calculator non-stop like it was a natural skill, Akira worked rather sluggishly. He hadn’t even noticed how much time passed until an alarm set for 2:00 PM rings on Mina’s table. She peeps over Akira’s cubicle to take a look.
“Kurusu-san,” she says in a soft, timid voice, almost impossible to hear. “We need to send up these documents to the assistant director.”
Startled, Akira jolts from his seat. “Huh?” he says, frantically checking both his watch and the wall clock on the office room wall. “It’s 2 already?! Goddamn it…” he holds his face in his hands.
“You go, Mina. I’m not even halfway done yet…”
Mina looks concernedly at the remaining stack of papers to be done on his side and sighs. “We have to at least submit what we did today, Kurusu-san.” She gives a soft smile. “We’re interns, after all. They’re not expecting too much from us.”
Akira groans. “Easy for you to say. Matsumoto-kacho’s on my ass for already being late twice…” he says as he lazily grabs his newly printed stack of documents and heads over to Mina’s side. “If you insist…” he says lackadaisically.
When the elevator doors opened to the 9th floor of the building, the door to the assistant director’s personal office was slightly ajar. Both interns silently slip away from the doorway in order to not disturb. From the muffled voices coming from the room, Akira could make out a deep voice—most likely the assistant director—and a younger man’s voice. He gathered that it might be another intern submitting their work. After a while, Mina slips out from behind the corner and knocks on the door.
“Come in,” the assistant director calls from his desk.
Akira almost drops the heavy stack of papers he’s holding in surprise.
The younger man he was talking to had his back turned, but even from his back profile he knew damn well who it was. He was wearing a sleek black coat that draped nicely over his thin figure, his light brunette hair was tied back neatly in a low ponytail, and he even wore a new pair of loafers, recently polished and shining under the fluorescent lights of the office. No wonder that voice sounded so condescending, Akira thought. He gulps, feeling his heart rate rising faster.
“Ah…” The assistant director says, standing up from his chair and walking over to the two interns. “Thank you for these, you two,” he says with a small smile on his face. Akira kept his gaze locked into the assistant director’s eyes, afraid that he would meet someone else's if his eyes dared wander around the room. He swallows the lump in his throat and gives the director a sheepish smile.
“Yeah, thank you too, Senpai,” he says, closing his eyes as he bows down deeply in front of him. Mina does the same. When she stands back upright though, she gasps at the sight of the other man in the room. “Oh my… is that… are you…?”
The young man in the coat flashes a smile. “Greetings, miss,” he says in a gentlemanly voice. How fake, Akira thinks as he scoffs, his gaze fixated on the patterns of the floor carpet now. Mina almost lets out a squeal.
“Yes, it’s me! Goro Akechi!”
Mina just stares in awe as the assistant director chuckles. “Always a pleasure to have a young celebrity so involved with our politics,” he says with a wink. “Akechi-san’s here to… visit. Yes. We were all surprised that he came here too,” he smiles, although Akira could detect some kind of evasiveness in his voice, like he wasn’t being too honest just now.
“Would you like an autograph, Miss?” Akechi offers. “Or perhaps a picture?” He chuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet fans back here in Japan, especially somewhere here.”
He notices Akira, who just turns his head away when he tries to meet his gaze. Akira swore he saw his shoulders droop just a little at his every failed attempt to notice him.
“Oh my God, Akechi-san, I- I don’t even know what to say. I’m so-”
Akechi just laughs in response. “Don’t sweat it. I can stay here all day if you’d like.”
Mina practically squeals by now. “Akechi-san, you’re so cool!”
After Mina had her selfie and autographs from Akechi, she thanks him and hurries outside the office door. The assistant director also leaves for a moment to go to the bathroom. So now, the only people left are Akira and Akechi, staring each other down again like the night before.
Akechi breaks the silence, again. He chuckles. “You seem like you’ve had quite an eventful day, Kurusu-san,” he says idly, leaning his back against the wall. Akira rolls his eyes crossly.
“Wow,” he says sarcastically. “Seems like the Ace Detective’s cracked another case,” he claps his hands slowly and deliberately, staring him down with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah,” he continues. “Rough day.”
Akechi chuckles again, which only makes Akira clench his fists even tighter. God, when was his voice not gonna get on his nerves for once?
“Ace Detective strikes again,” he smirks, which only makes Akira grimace at him. He laughs a little louder this time, almost losing balance and falling over backwards.
“I’d thought you’d lighten up after that little quip…” he remarks. “We were friends after all, right?”
“Such friends we were,” Akira thinks. He shakes his head and purses his lips to prevent those exact words from escaping from his mouth.
“Sure as hell feels like we weren’t,” he says in reply instead with arms crossed. “Kurusu-san. Really? Akechi, you know my name.”
Akechi raises a playful eyebrow. “And I thought you’d know mine, too. Akechi.”
“Ad hominem,” Akira shakes his head. “I’ve always called you Akechi, smartass.”
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the banter at least a little bit. Akechi does a double take, stunned.
“Ad hominem?” Akechi repeats. “And I thought I was the only one casually dropping that stuff in front of our friends before. Seems like I’m contagious.”
Akira gets even more pissed, biting his lips even more to keep him from saying even more stuff inside the office. “Tsk.”
Akechi notices his old friend’s unimpressed face and laughs even more. “Alright, alright. I’ll skip the formalities. It’s just… so weird to be calling you Akira again when… we haven’t even met in so long.”
Akira sighs deeply, nodding in agreement. The topic has shifted to something more serious, more intimate, more uncomfortable now. Akira wanted to take this chance to leave again. But for some reason, it felt like his feet were fixed to the floor. He couldn’t muster up the urge to run away anymore. So he continues to stay there, listening to every word Akechi says. He watches Akechi as he looks around the office, trying to break the awkwardness again, chuckling sheepishly.
“Damn… Boss is taking kinda long in the toilet…” he says with a slight smirk on his face. “Hope he’s alright in there,” he snickers.
Akira just shakes his head. “Such professionalism you have, Akechi,” he sighs, hiding a small smile from creeping on his face. “You’re still so immature.”
“Seems like nothing about me’s changed after all,” Akechi replies with a slight flush of embarrassment visible on his face. “I can say the same about you, too. Always so unpredictable… but interesting.”
Akira scoffs. He couldn’t understand himself why he was acting like this in front of Akechi now, letting his guard down for even the slightest, being friendly, and actually making banter and joking around with him? He didn’t know how he came to this either. He checks his watch, stuffing his free hand into his blazer pocket.
“Well,” he says, looking back up at Akechi. “It’s a little late. I don’t have anything else to do here. So if you’ll excuse me…” he says, already turning to leave,
“Wait!” Akechi calls out rather hurriedly. Akira turns back at him.
“Uh…” The former rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Would you mind if I invited you for coffee?”
Akira just stands in his place, stunned by his sudden request. “Coffee?” he repeats, as if he didn’t comprehend what he was hearing yet. Akechi nods, his confident demeanor wavering just a bit.
“To catch up,” Akechi adds. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. And plus, my schedule is free. I was hoping to meet an old friend of mine first to relax myself for a while,” he flashes his biggest popstar smile, which makes Akira scowl internally.
But he finds himself nodding anyway.
“...Sure,” he says slowly. “Coffee it is.”
Akechi smiles, then heads outside the room to the elevator, pressing the down button.
“That one coffee shop your old man runs…” he says thoughtfully as they both step into the elevator. “I was hoping we’d go there.” Akira turns his head to look at him.
“Leblanc?” he says. “I didn’t think you’ve taken such a liking to that place,” he says in a tone laced with a bit of hostility.
If you’d liked it so much here, then maybe you should’ve just stayed.
Akira shakes his thoughts away again as they walk out of the office building into the busy streets of Shibuya. Akechi had put on a pretty neat cover-up in the elevator: wide sunglasses taking up almost half of his slim face and a big cowboy hat to go with it. He’d also worn a black face mask to cover his mouth. Akira almost bursts out laughing at his getup.
“You look ridiculous.”
From underneath the wide rims of his sunglasses, he could feel Akechi’s light brown eyes stare right into his, which only makes him laugh even harder.
— — — — —
The door chimes overhead ring cheerily as Akira opens the door for the both of them. It was already late afternoon, so their regular customers had already filed out of the cafe several hours before. Akechi shrugged off his coat jacket off his shoulders and onto the nearest booth seat from the door.
Akira takes the seat across from him.
“Not a lot of customers,” Akechi remarks, glancing around the small cafe, empty except for Sojiro, who was busy washing dishes and hasn’t even noticed the two young men yet. “Very… quiet, as you would expect from a cafe in a small district,” he straightens out the collar of his polo and picks up a menu from the table. “That’s why I like it. It’s unlikely that I’d run into fans or… nosy paparazzi,” he chuckles, putting an elbow to the table and using his hand to support his head. He was being surprisingly more casual today. Akira just scoffs.
And here I thought you were coming here for nostalgia’s sake.
Akira nods in acknowledgement and purses his lips, restraining himself yet again from snapping and saying something witty. God, why was he even agreeing to hanging out with him in the first place?
He catches a hint of amusement in Akechi’s eyes as he flicks through the menu selection as he rolls his own.
“Didn’t you say you liked our dark Americano once, Akechi?” he blurts out. Akechi looks up at him.
“Dark Americano, was it? So that was what I was vaguely remembering from here…” he nods intently. “Very retentive, Akira. Remembering even before the Ace Detective,” he says as he puts down the menu.
Akira turns his gaze away from the young man across from him. “Yeah, well. It was hard to forget, even from seven years ago. You were so insistent on ordering that specific thing when we were kids…” he says, making Akechi laugh a little harder. When he looked back up at Akira, he could almost see… a hint of relief flickering in his eyes. He pretends not to notice, or not to care.
“One dark Americano it is,” Akechi says, his voice laced with triumph. “And for you?”
Akira sighs as he lazily scans the pictures shown in the menu.
“I’ll have what you’re getting, I guess…” he says gruffly.
Sojiro notices Akira sitting at the table, but he just silently takes their orders and retreats back to the kitchen, not minding Akira’s business at all. When he looked at Akechi though, a feeling of recognition passed through him. He couldn’t tell from where it was. The two boys watch as Sojiro quietly starts brewing the coffee as Akechi turns back to him.
“So, Akira,” he starts, his head still resting on one hand. “How are things going?”
That question made Akira’s hands ball into fists.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell the truth. Of how he’s been miserable since the day Akechi left. Of how he couldn’t stand living another day anymore if it meant seeing his stupid face everywhere again or even hearing news of him from city passersby. Of how he’d still hadn’t moved on from how coldly Akechi had treated him that one day. Of how he couldn’t understand why he was acting so friendly now, when he didn’t even apologize first. Of how cheated he felt from his “friendship” with Akechi. Of how it always felt like he needed to beg for more, even until today. Of how…
“Akira?” Akechi’s head cocks a little to the side. “Are you alright?”
Akira had only now noticed the dirty look he had while he was thinking of what to say. He quickly shakes his head to snap out of his own daydream and abruptly nods at him.
“Oh, yeah. Me? I’m okay. Life’s… okay, you know? Like- er- I’m totally fine with everything and all! It’s been chill, yeah…” he stammers.
Akechi chuckles a little, his voice laced with slight concern. “I can see right through you, Akira,” he crosses his arms and leans his back onto the booth seat with a small smirk on his face.
“I know you’re stressed about something. There’s no need to hide it.” he laughs. “We’re all stressed. We’re adults now.”
“My stress runs even deeper than you think…” Akira says internally. He crosses his own arms and gives him a small nod.
“Yeah. You could say I’m stressed…” he replies out loud.
Akechi nods in acknowledgement. “That office job,” he continues, looking at Akira’s professional getup. “Was that your first job? Like, your first corporate one?”
“And why would you assume that it’s my first?” Akira snaps a little, a hot kind of embarrassment slowly arising in his cheeks.
Akechi snickers. “For one thing, you’re all dressed up, but you still look so distraught.”
That’s Akechi for you. Brutally honest in a condescendingly gentle tone, one that pisses Akira off the most.
“That’s none of your business,” he huffs. “And yes, it’s my first corporate job. Congrats, Detective. You’ve figured it out again,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Today must be my lucky day,” Akechi says in reply, grinning from ear to ear at how easily he could get through Akira’s thin-skinned demeanor. “I commend your efforts. First days for interns are always arduous,” he says as Akira rolls his eyes again at his sudden use of more formal lingo.
“You could say that,” Akira responds. He begins to rest his own head on his hand as two steaming hot cups of dark Americano are brought to their table. He watches as Akechi blows on the brew a little before drinking it, a small smile of satisfaction on his face and even a sigh of relief after the first sip.
“I’ve almost forgotten how lovely these Americanos tasted here,” he says, holding the cup at eye level and studying it intently in all angles. His voice suddenly drops to something gentler, more tender than before. “This is my favorite part of coming home.”
Akira almost drops his own cup in surprise. “Really?” he says, mouth agape. He sets down the cup as he continues to look at him. “Wow. I never knew you liked them that much.”
Akechi smiles at him as he sets his cup down on the table as well. “Anyway,” he says, switching back to his formal, corporate voice. “Your old man has a daughter at home, right? How is she? And the others, too?”
“Well…” Akira replies, trying to remember their mutual friends from high school. “Futaba is studying computer science in a nearby college from here… Ryuji—you know, the guy with dyed blonde hair—actually, I’m not sure exactly what he’s doing. I think he’s applied to be an assistant coach or club adviser in some elementary schools here in Tokyo. Not sure yet if he’s heard back from any of them…”
“Ann, she’s in Paris right now. Modeling gigs and other stuff. I’m sure you’ve seen her in person once?” Akira says inquisitively. Akechi nods in reply.
“We’ve met each other on a business trip in Europe once. She’s still the same sweet girl that we both know,” he laughs. “Go on…”
“Yusuke is a freelance artist. He’s making more money now to be slightly more financially stable,” Akira says as both he and Akechi start laughing.
“I remember him. That’s the person that always used to crash here for free dinner from Sojiro,” Akechi remarks with a slight chuckle.
“And Sojiro would always do it reluctantly,” Akira adds.
“Makoto’s studying to become a cop. She’s in Tokyo University now. I think she’s also been granted a master’s degree somewhere abroad…” Akira continues, idly stirring his coffee with a small teaspoon. “Haru’s still rich. Inherited her dad’s business, so now she’s the CEO of everything…” he smirks. “A true nepo baby, just like you.”
Akechi’s posture stiffens at Akira’s sly comment. “I do not appreciate comments such as those,” he says as he straightens out the creases of his polo. “Do not address me as such.”
Akira raises both of his hands in mock surrender. “Damn. Okay, okay… Anyway, lastly, Sumire is a professional gymnast. I think we’ve both seen the news headlines. ‘National rising star: Sumire Yoshizawa, excellent gymnast’ blah, blah, blah. She told me yesterday she was gonna go to Singapore soon for another competition.”
Akechi’s eyes sparkle in surprise. “Incredible!” he remarks, clasping both of his hands together. “Seems like I must send her my regards on national television tomorrow night,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee. Then he goes on rambling again, continuing his story that he didn’t quite finish last night at the grocery. This time, it was something about dating scandals, paparazzi, incompetent coworkers, all that celebrity gossip. This time, Akechi was using a lot of showbiz lingo that he couldn’t even understand. Akira listens intently, trying hard to relate to his stories, as a crease gradually furrows on his brow as he takes in all those first-world problems coming from a first-world person. He wished he could be richer so he could at least comprehend whatever he was saying.
Yet Akechi quickly catches on to Akira’s bored expression.
“Ah! Excuse me and my excessive rambling,” he says sheepishly, bowing his head a little. “I didn’t realize I was talking too much.”
“Yeah… too much,” Akira responds, staring down at his table. Both of them had already finished their coffee a few moments ago. Now he wanted Akechi to just stand up, thank him for his time, and leave and never visit again. But to his surprise, and his utter annoyance, he stayed for a little while longer, asking Akira about other stuff. College in Japan, work life, and other miscellaneous things. The atmosphere of their conversation felt weird, stale in a way. It felt like Akechi was merely interviewing Akira rather than both of them participating in an active conversation, adding more and more to the awkwardness surrounding them both. God, when was Akechi finally gonna make him stop talking and just leave?
“Akira,” Akechi starts again. A feeling of hope passes over Akira. Maybe he would stand up and leave right this second!
“You know I’m a journalist too, right?”
Akira slumps his shoulders, letting out a small sigh of disappointment. “Of course I do. I see your articles in newspapers and magazines all the time. How could I not know you’re a journalist?” he snaps, quite crabby by now. Akechi just brushes his old friend’s harsh tone off with a laugh.
“Well,” he says, eyeing the man across him intently. “Sometimes my editor assigns me prompts to write. And this time, he’s assigned me to write about…” his voice trails off, trying to remember what to say.
“About comparing the effects of different types of long-distance communication, both traditional and non-traditional.”
Akira raises an eyebrow, curious as to where this conversation was leading. “Long-distance communication… so like, letter writing, and all that stuff?”
Akechi nods eagerly.
“Exactly,” he says with a small smile. “I think you’d be a good candidate to be one of my… test subjects for this article.”
Akira does a double take. “Woah, Akechi! I didn’t agree to anything yet!” he says, holding up both of his hands in surrender. “And don't go saying it like that.”
Akechi snickers. “Alright, I’ll lay out the initial guidelines first, and by then you’ll decide.”
“I know it’s a big favor to ask for, and that it’s quite informal to ask for favors to people you’ve just reunited with, but just hear me out. So yes, letter writing. That’s all I ask you to do. And, that will be our only form of communication ever. So, if you agree to this, we can’t exchange phone numbers, I can’t follow you back on social media—although you can follow me. I’m a celebrity. I’d be more on expecting that would be the case,” he winks cheekily as Akira just scoffs. “Don’t be too full of yourself,” the latter replies.
Akechi continues. “So, yes. Those guidelines aforementioned. The letters should be coming on a regular basis. So that means…” Akechi stops to ponder for a while. “We should both be receiving a letter every week respectively, for a year or so.” He smiles at Akira.
“So that’s it. Those are the guidelines. Are you in?”
“Well, firstly, that’s an absurd suggestion. We’ve just met again after almost a decade, and now this little experiment of yours is only forcing us to be separated, again.” Akira stands up from his seat.
“But we’re less separated than last time, eh? This time, we’re actually communicating with each other,” Akechi counters, a sly smirk on his face. Akira immediately retreats back to his seat, sighing in defeat.
“I guess you’re right…” he says in annoyance. “I just don’t know why your editor would suggest something so absurd. This is playing out more like a scientific paper than a magazine article.” Akira chuckles.
“Man, imagine that. Goro Akechi writing his own thesis. And then next year, all we’re gonna see on the news now would be, ‘Goro Akechi attains doctorate degree,’ ‘Goro Akechi writes a thesis,’ ‘Goro Akechi and his two doctorates in liberal arts and psychology.’ God, that would be annoying.” He shakes his head, wincing at his own thoughts. He’d be more than pissed if that were the case.
Meanwhile, the latter just laughs out loud. “That would be interesting. But yes, quite absurd. My editor… he’s always been suggesting crazy prompts that I always have to turn down. But I think this topic is intriguing enough, eh?”
“Damn, I don’t know. Ask another doctor or scientist or something and maybe then you can publish your thesis.”
“It’s a feature article, Akira. Not a thesis,” Akechi sighs exasperatedly.
“Almost couldn’t tell the difference,” Akira banters. God, getting back at him felt so good.
Akechi clears his throat. “You still haven’t answered my question yet.”
On the other hand, Akira just pretends to be oblivious. “What question? I thought we were just talking about you and your aspiring medical degree,” he says innocently, resting his head on both hands now.
Akechi glares in response. “The letter agreement, Akira.”
“Oh, right! The letters! Damn, I almost forgot!” Akira snorts, before immediately pondering on Akechi’s suggestion.
“Damn, I don’t know. It just seems too… tedious. I’m gonna be busy in the next few months at my new job, anyway…” Akira says, eyes darting around everywhere but at Akechi.
“And plus, I’m not too thrilled at someone ordering me to write letters. We’re not in high school anymore,” he sighs. “This isn’t some kind of pen pal project.”
Akechi sighs in defeat. “Well, I’m not sure whether I’d find another person to do it…” he says. “I don’t know many people here anymore, and writing to my American friends is just useless since we already have contact everywhere else…”
Akira grimaces at him. He almost felt sorry for him, but he had to stand his ground. “...You’ll have to find another person, then.”
Akechi nods in acknowledgement and stands up, putting on his coat jacket and smoothening out the creases on his shirt and tie. He places a few bills neatly under his coffee cup as payment. “...It was nice meeting you again, Akira,” he smiles. “Sorry for pressuring you into that favor…”
Akira just nods in response, not sure of what to say or what to do now. Sure, he wasn’t too thrilled about having to talk to Akechi, not for the mere sake of communication, but as a requirement demanded by one of Akechi’s bosses. If the suggestion were to be made by Akechi alone, then maybe he would be less hesitant. Although…
He stands up.
“Wait, Akechi…”
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