Chapter Text
In another life, Akechi would have been comforted by the sun coming out after last week’s rain. In this one, the light from the sun shone directly into his eyes, and he could already feel a migraine coming on. God himself telling him he should have just grabbed a container of pasta from the convenience store instead of coming to buy vegetables and pretending to be a person. A moment ago he felt fine, but now the bitter melon in his hands felt heavy as a sharp pain radiated from behind his eyes.
Heavy in his hands, heavy in his heart. Something had gotten in his head recently that he should try making recipes from his childhood. If nothing else it was proof that nostalgia was a demon that snuck up on you and tried to drag you back to the past even if you should want nothing to do with it.
As he paid for the melon, the bustle of the city around him become a blur of harsh noise that his could feel irritating every blood vessel in his head. There were few things worse to Akechi than feeling sick like this in public. Something about it felt disgustingly vulnerable. He just had to get home. Then he could stop worrying about if the grandmothers browsing the produce stands or the groups of teenagers with ice cream crowding the market stalls would see him in such a state and think him something to be pitied. Walking, dizzy, away from the rest of the shoppers, Akechi bit his lip to steady himself. The world looked spotty, but he knew the way back to his apartment by muscle memory alone by this point. It would have been so easy to shut his eyes and let his gut take him home if he didn’t collide directly into the figure walking directly at him.
Fucking tourists.
The man who had bumped into him was walking backwards, taking pictures of the cluttered market. It probably felt quaint to him or something. Ridiculous. Some people were actually here trying to simply live their lives, and now his groceries were scattered across the pavement.
“Sorry, let me grab that.”
The man had the sense to put his camera away at least, and he knelt down to gather up the vegetables at his feet. Akechi crossed his arms, glaring, ready to give the man a piece of his mind when he stood back up.
“Are you too dumb to watch where you’re-“
Like that, everything stopped. Akechi found himself staring into soft silver eyes and it all clicked. The springy black curls framing the man’s face down to his chin, his deep voice, the lanky posture and acne scars that he somehow managed to wear as if they were crown jewels. There was no one else it could be.
“Kurusu?”
Akechi’s groceries found themselves discarded on the ground once again along with Akira’s camera as he dropped what he was holding and pulled Akechi into a hug.
“Holy shit, it’s actually you.”
Akechi shoved him away, twisting his wide-eyed expression back into a glare. Yeah, it sure was him alright.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Akira practically scoffed, kneeling down to pick up the fallen items. “What are doing alive?”
Akechi snatched his grocery bag back.
“Disappointed?”
“You wish,” Akira retorted, checking his camera lens for scratches.
He’d slipped right back into their old rapport as if he was waiting for it all this time. Confident as he sounded though, there was a softness to his voice that betrayed him, like he was worried he was in a dream that talking too loudly would wake him up from. The moment passed, and Akechi was suddenly aware again that time didn’t actually stop around them. Akira shuffled out of the way of the crowd surrounding them hurrying to catch the bus.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“And what if I don’t want anything to do with you?”
The softness in Akechi’s voice betrayed him too. It wasn’t as if he had any real reason to be mad at Akira at this point. Not when the last thing Akira had ever done for him was to keep a promise. To respect his wishes for his own life in a way no one else had ever bothered to. At this point keeping up the facade that they were enemies was just holding a grudge over the fact that Akira had a better life than him. But then again, that resentment at least felt familiar. Comfortable even.
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
Akira saw through him as usual. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking and Akira would have said anything with the hope of getting what he wanted. Either way, Akechi walked past him, a terse “follow me” the only indication that he had decided to indulge Akira’s request. The two walked in silence down the city street, Akira following at a cautious distance until they reached a quiet part of the nearby park. They had found a spot in the shade, giving Akechi’s sore eyes a break from the suffocating light. In the distance, children played and tourists bickered with the robotic voices of their GPSes. And for all they knew, the two men standing under the trees were just having a casual chat, making conversation about the weather.
For a bit they just stared at each other, a mutual desire to take in what they both had missed known between them.
It was obnoxious how at home Akira looked everywhere. Even in his dark t-shirt and jeans, he looked like he belonged among the sticky late-July heat. Specks of sweat dotted his face and added color to his cheeks. Unlike Akechi who had started wearing his glasses outside the house, Akira had abandoned the ones he wore as a teenager, no longer hiding his bright, inquisitive eyes. Akechi felt in many ways his opposite. Even wearing a baggy white shirt and khaki shorts, he looked ill-prepared for the summer, drenched in sweat, long thin hair sticking to his neck. His eyes were darker than Akira’s. Duller. They darted around as if something was looming above them.
“I missed you.”
There was no hint of irony in Akira’s voice. He said it like he’d met up with a fling he’d spent a beautiful night with years ago and not a man who once tried to murder him.
“Why are you here?” Akechi asked again.
“Does it matter?” Akira sighed. Akechi didn’t answer. “I’m here on work. That’s not important.”
Akira bit his lip. Akechi chewed at his thumbnail. There was no blueprint for what to do in a situation like this. It wasn’t as if Akechi hadn’t imagined how this would go if it ever happened, but those were all fantasies that often involved him crashing his lips against Akira’s or punching his lights out. Often both. Nothing he could actually do in public regardless.
“I still have your glove,” Akira blurted out. He stared at Akechi desperate and unblinking, searching his face for any kind of reaction, something he found when Akechi’s face twisted with rage.
“Of course you do,” he sneered.
How dare he? How dare he come back to Akechi just as radiant as he’d always been? For years he’d figured Akira looked back on their rivalry as some dumb mistake made by a hopelessly naive teenager. That he looked back and laughed at how insane it had been to want the company of someone who betrayed his trust. That if he’d ever saw Akechi on the street someday he’d turn the other way, or more realistically, assume it was some trick of the light. He was supposed to be dead after all.
“Carrying that thing around like some kind of war widow. You’re pathetic, Kurusu.”
Akira had the audacity to smile.
“Thank God, you’re not some cognition.”
Right, because only the real Akechi would be so cruel. Apparently that’s how Akira liked him.
“I don’t know why or how I’m alive any more than you do, for the record.” Akechi crossed his arms like he was trying to disappear into himself.
“That’s fine,” Akira replied a little too quick. Another wave of exhaustion radiated from Akechi’s skull. His groceries were starting to feel heavier than they had any right to be.
“Look, I need to get home. I feel like shit.”
“Well I’m here for a while.” Akira rubbed the back of his neck. “We can talk some other time.”
“Or maybe this is a one time meeting and we’ll never see each other again.”
The bite in Akechi’s voice was beginning to falter. His head hurt; his arms felt weak; being angry at Akira took more energy than he currently had.
“Come on, are you serious?” Akira didn’t sound upset. Bewildered maybe. “What are the odds that this happens? It has to be fate that we ran into each other.”
Akira hadn’t changed. He still said the most asinine things with more confidence than they deserved.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Akechi snapped. “I seem to recall the last time fate brought us together, you got to play hero while I lost everything I’d spent my life working towards. So forgive me if I’m not thrilled at the thought that I was meant to find you again.”
Akira’s gaze softened, and Akechi bristled at how condescending it felt. He’d always hated when Akira looked at him like some kind of pitiable thing.
“Do you really believe things between us could ever be normal?” There was no more venom in Akechi’s voice. There was no point in it anymore.
“Of course not.” Akira didn’t break eye contact. As usual, he didn’t falter at all. “When I imagined meeting you again, I knew things would be complicated.”
Akechi raised an eyebrow.
“You imagined this?”
Akira sheepishly pushed a loose curl away from his face.
“Since the day I thought you died, honestly. I told you I kept your glove.”
“Are you stupid? You had no reason to think I was alive.”
“I guess I’m just used to getting what I want one way or another.”
There was that goddamn Joker smirk Akechi was used to. Exactly as he remembered. Finally he felt like he was speaking to his rival, a thought that made him feel regrettably nostalgic. He despised the thought that he actually missed this, but it was hard to deny that the opportunity to know Akira without the looming threat of Shido or Maruki felt like something he’d wished for at least at some point in time. And it wasn’t like Akira didn’t know this seeing as Akechi had bared his soul to him when the first time he thought he was going to die.
“I really do need to get home.” Akechi averted his eyes and held out his hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll give you my new chat ID. We’ll meet up tomorrow night. Hopefully you aren’t doing anything important because I don’t intend on clearing my schedule for you.”
“Works for me,” Akira replied, too smug as usual. “I’m here all month. Plenty of time for us to get reacquainted, yeah?”
“You change your tune quick,” Akechi muttered, handing the phone back. “Maybe I won’t message you after all.”
“I’ll call you then?” Akira chuckled at his own joke. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you soon, I guess.”
Akira took a minute to actually walk away. He almost looked afraid, like if he turned around, he’d never see Akechi again. Akechi wondered for a moment if he’d ever had a dream like that. It would only be fair considering that Akira was a frequent participant in his own dreams, though those usually turned into nightmares one way or another.
After falling asleep practically as soon as he got home and hurrying to work as soon as he got up in the morning, Akechi was almost able to push his meeting with Akira out of his mind. In fact, he was so out of it that morning, he was able to spend his entire bus ride to work convinced that yesterday’s chance meeting was just a mirage and not something that actually had the power to upend his life. Though as he restocked the convenience store shelves during his shift, it became harder to deny what had happened, or even think about anything else for that matter. Akechi couldn’t deny being drawn to Akira, but the other man still felt like a bad omen. It was hard to ignore the thought that Akira’s apparent success meant that Akechi was destined to fail. That only one of them was allowed to be happy.
By the time Akechi’s shift ended, he was considering going back on his promise to send Akira a message. Maybe if he ghosted, Akira would convince himself that Akechi wasn’t real after all. Maybe he would drive himself mad trying to discern whether or not that meeting was a loneliness-induced hallucination. Maybe after all these years, Akechi would finally take down the mighty Joker with his own bleeding heart.
Whether or not this turn of events would actually make him happy was an afterthought. The realization that he could drag Akira down to his level sent a pulse of adrenaline through his body. It was pathetic how much nothing else seemed to matter when the prospect of taking down his rival was back on the table.
Akechi’s phone vibrated in his pocket.
[Kurusu Akira] Nice fake name. Or did you give me the wrong chat ID like an ass?
It would be so easy to respond with an innocent “who is this?” So easy to try and throw the smug bastard off his game. Or to just ignore him. But it was too easy. Akira probably wouldn’t even be thrown off by it anyway. He’d find some way to be above it as usual. No, dragging Akira back into their game would take more precision. He had always been a dangerous person to underestimate.
It was also getting harder to deny that Akechi wanted to continue their conversation.
[Hitomi Hiro] You think so little of me, Kurusu. I suppose that's understandable though.
A reply came right away. Of course it did.
[Kurusu Akira] Would you be offended if I keep calling you Akechi?
[Hitomi Hiro] Do what you want. Honestly I'm not particularly attached to either name.
[Kurusu Akira] Should have figured.
Why did he always have to say things like that? Akira had such an annoying tendency to make it seem as if he had Akechi entirely figured out. But what did he know? Akira hadn’t seen him in years.
[Hitomi Hiro] What do you mean by that exactly?
[Kurusu Akira] You don't get attached to things easily.
[Kurusu Akira] Where are we meeting up tonight?
Presumptuous bastard. Akechi had only agreed to meet up on his terms. That was the Akira he remembered alright. Give the man an inch and he took a mile.
[Hitomi Hiro] I was under the impression I would be contacting you when I felt like going out.
[Kurusu Akira] Well I messaged you and you responded so…
He wasn’t wrong, much to Akechi’s dismay.
[Hitomi Hiro] Fine. There's a particularly good soba place near where I work. I'll send you the address.
As he prepared to go out, Akechi cursed himself for caring about the way he looked. Paying too close attention to his appearance reminded him of his younger years when his appearance was not his own, but the embarrassment of looking particularly disheveled while seeing his rival for the first time in years was more powerful than his vendetta against appearing presentable. He pulled his hair back in a ponytail and settled on a loose striped shirt and a pair of linen pants. Something that would look decent without causing him to sweat through his clothes. In front of the bathroom mirror, he dry swallowed the medication he would almost certainly forget to take if he didn’t now and splashed water on his face to bring himself back to reality.
He couldn’t fold now. He’d certainly done more difficult things in his life than get dinner with Akira Kurusu.
The two didn’t talk much before ordering their food, and now that it was sitting in front of them, it seemed to be all Akira wanted to discuss.
“It’s been great having Okinawa-style soba again. I don’t think I’ve had it since I was 18.” Akira paused to slurp up the chewy wheat noodles in front of him. “I’ve tried cooking it myself since then, but there’s a nuance I can’t quite get right. I guess ‘cause I grew up around more mild flavors? I can’t seem to capture more intensely seasoned food without going overboard.”
Akechi was ready to scream. A dead man was sitting in front of him, and Akira was talking about his struggle to capture regional flavors? He really should have expected as much; Akira was always strange, having a tendency to fixate on things that in the moment hardly seemed to matter. It was a quirk that Akechi refused to underestimate seeing as it was likely the reason Akira always seemed to be one step ahead of him.
“Hmm, interesting.” Akechi swirled the pork broth around in his bowl. “I had the opposite experience myself when I first moved to Tokyo. Everything tasted rather bland.”
Akira cocked his head. Another of his many dog-like characteristics along with senseless loyalty and an inexplicable ability to find things long missing.
“Are you from around here?”
“Somewhat,” Akechi replied. “Not here in the city. I grew up a bit further north, near one of the US military bases.”
Akira looked up from his noodles.
“Wait, seriously?”
Akechi crossed his arms.
“Are you really acting like my being from Okinawa is the most unbelievable thing you’ve learned about me in the past few days?”
“No, I mean, it’s a funny coincidence. I’m actually here to interview people protesting the creation of new US bases.” Akira motioned to the camera bag slung across his chair. “I’m a journalist.”
Akechi looked Akira up and down, reassessing him with this newfound information. It was fitting, to be honest. Akira was quiet, unassuming, and had an unnatural talent for getting people to open up. He could do some real damage in a profession like that, though Akechi figured that probably wasn’t the metric Akira was judging himself by.
“I guess I never thought about what you would do with yourself without the metaverse.”
“It’s not quite as immediately rewarding,” Akira answered quickly, lighthearted yet listful. “I went to college in Shinjuku, majored in political science, worked part-time at a drag bar. Pretty normal stuff.”
“And now you work for whom?”
“Well, I have a blog,” Akira answered sheepishly. “But that’s more of a passion project. I’m here working on an article for Alternative Japan, though they’re not exactly a household name.”
Akechi laughed. What were the odds? Maybe Akira was onto something with his sentimental garbage about fate earlier.
“I know of them. Only because Shido almost ordered a psychotic breakdown on the man who runs it back in 2015 after he published an unflattering article about him. He ended up figuring the man was too much of a nobody, and getting involved would be too suspicious.”
“Holy shit.” Akira leaned back in his chair. “Teenage you could have killed my boss.”
And then he actually laughed. And Akechi laughed too. They both laughed harder than they had in a while because the absurdity of the whole situation was too much to bear.
“I should have figured,” Akechi began after catching his breath. “You can’t come back into my life without dragging back everything from my past as well.”
He hated how sad he sounded. Weak, pathetic, letting his guard down around someone he had no reason to trust.
“I can’t lie,” Akira said, smiling softly. “I do want to hear about your past.”
“Exactly how much of it do you mean?”
A pause. They both knew the answer as well as they both knew better than to say it aloud.
“Start with after you survived fighting Maruki. What the hell happened to you, Akechi?”
Akechi took a moment to sip some of the warm broth in front of him, biding his time figuring out how to respond.
“I can’t give you a satisfying answer. I have no idea how I’m alive.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Joker’s gaze was back, replacing Akira's gentle expression. For a second, he was back in the metaverse watching Akira wipe blood off his lip.
“Even the details of what happened is foggy. I woke up in the hospital, likely tried to explain what happened to some poor confused nurse, and ended up sent to a psychiatric facility seeing as I was fully convinced the world was still fake and that I should have been dead.”
Akechi didn’t meet Akira’s gaze, focusing on the chopstick he was anxiously twirling in his hand instead. When he finally peered back to gauge Akira’s reaction, there was sympathy in his eyes and thankfully more curiosity than pity.
“I spent a long time there. As you can imagine, while I had some… genuine psychoses that could benefit from treatment, there’s only so much to be done when your actual life is completely unbelievable.”
Akira nodded along, leaning in to better hear Akechi’s quieted voice.
“I stuck to my story while they deemed me so deep in delusion that I was unfit for society. I suppose I could have lied, been released, and gotten off for my impossible to prove crimes, but what would I have done? Where would I have gone? Clinging to the truth was the only thing I had.”
Akechi hadn’t realized how deeply he desired someone he could tell this to. Someone who understood.
“Somehow, somebody in the system caught wind of my specific ‘delusion’ and I was transferred to a different kind of facility. One ran by… people like us.”
It seemed to take Akira a moment to understand what Akechi was referring to. He blinked in confusion before his grey eyes lit up. Like them. Like those who knew about the other world.
“They believed my story. Evidently it was nothing they hadn’t seen before, and I wasn’t the first person to misuse that power who they saw potential in.”
Akira clung to Akechi’s every word. Akechi should have figured. Akira really was like him, connected to the strange phenomena of the world no matter how much he tried to move on.
“There’s only so much I can go into detail about. All you need to know is that I’ve spent the last couple years here in Naha, working at Triple Seven, and being entirely unremarkable as far as anybody knows.”
For a moment, it really was like they were back in high school. Akechi flashed a TV smile as if it in any way offset the gravity of what he just said, and Akira stared back at him with a quiet fire in his eyes. If Akira had felt drawn to him before, it was nothing compared to how he must have felt after learning that Akechi was still tangled up in the web of supernatural forces and existential threats that had defined their youth. It was a bit sad really. Akira could move on if he wanted to just like his little friends who Akechi had occasionally seen the names of in magazines advertising fashion shows and art exhibitions and national gymnastics tournaments. Akechi was the one with nothing but this power to his name.
Akira broke the silence:
”Except for me now, yeah?”
Of course. Except for Akira, his eternal exception to everything. The man he had told things he had once vowed to take to his grave. The man who saw him at his lowest.
Akechi hated him. He always had. What else could anyone be expected to feel when faced with their own shadow? Or rather, the man he was the shadow of. Akechi had sold his soul a decade ago when he’d awakened to his twisted power all while Akira continued to live. As teenagers, he’d inserted himself into Akechi’s macabre reality and transformed it into some kind of magical adventure where he was the hero, where society bent to his whims, where he actually had a goddamn chance to make sense of the absurdity thrust on them by some bored deity.
And now he was here in the place Akechi had grown up, clearly clinging onto some belief that he could find the words to offer it some kind of justice. Of all the arrogant bullshit in the world.
“I think we’re done here.”
Akechi stood up, letting his chair screech against the hard floor as he shoved it back into place.
“Wait.” Akira stood up, following Akechi without missing a beat. “There’s something I wanted to bring up all night.”
”Make it quick,” replied Akechi through gritted teeth.
Akira shifted, a light blush of all things decorating his cheeks and blending in with his sunburnt skin.
”Can we talk about what happened that night? After Maruki tried to get us to take his deal.”
Right. That was the night Akechi had assumed he wouldn’t have to live with the consequences of.