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“Now that we’ve made ourselves a new deal, you wouldn’t turn me down, would you?”
Akira didn’t immediately respond, not that Goro expected it. His rival was too busy dissecting him with his gaze, as if searching for the wires and pulleys tugging at Goro’s limbs behind the deceptively normal backdrop of the laundromat. He didn’t exactly blame him; this whole reality was a bit of a mindfuck.
“No…” Akira finally said, drawing the word out in a long, slow drawl, “I won’t turn you down.”
Goro relaxed, a subtle coil of tension loosening in his belly at that confirmation. Not that he expected to be completely rebuffed - Akira was pragmatic enough to set aside their differences for mutual gain. There was a reason he managed to fool him so utterly in the lead up to Sae’s Palace-
He slammed the brakes on that train of thought. Not now.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Goro prompted when Akira made no move to leave the laundromat or to get out of his way, “Yoshizawa is waiting for us.”
“One moment,” Akira said, “I want something from you first.”
And the tension was back, sharper and strangling, winding up from his guts and tangling behind his sternum. Joker wanted something from him? What? A promise? Some sort of demented blood oath? Goro could see him trying to leverage this necessary partnership into something more committed, as if Goro joining his merry band of Phantom Thieves was a good enough start on his journey to redemption.
there is no redemption for me, he thought acidly, just enough time for me to go out on my own terms.
“Of course you do,” Goro muttered bitterly, “Well, spit it out then. What do you want?”
Akira took two dominating steps forwards.
Goro retreated two wary steps back.
His shoulder hit the row of washing machines, but Akira kept moving in close, until somehow Goro was wedged in the corner of the laundromat with Akira all but standing on his shoes, nose to nose, chest to chest, Goro baring his teeth like a frightened dog as Akira stared at him fearlessly, every inch of him Joker: confident, domineering, overwhelming.
“What do you want?” Goro hissed, fighting the urge to shove him out of his space. His close proximity buzzed under his skin like a colony of fire ants, a white-hot fever that made the nest of jagged emotions in his belly too sharp to endure.
(this was why it took him several days to scrounge up the courage to come here for help…)
“Crow,” Joker murmured, the codename far more intimate than his name could ever be, “Why didn’t you come with us?”
Goro stared at him.
“...you want to discuss that now?” he said, his sheer dumbfoundment knocking the wind out of his angry sails, “Now?”
“Before we get distracted with our investigation, yeah,” the Joker facade cracked a little, a hint of Akira as his gaze lowered for a fraction of a moment. He couldn’t seem to look away from his face, his intense gaze cataloguing and hungrily mapping every movement, every reaction Goro made - like he thought he would vanish the moment he looked away.
“Is this due to some misplaced guilt at failing to ‘save me’?” Goro sneered, bristling at the perceived pity, “I’ll spare you the effort: there was no saving me, there was nothing to save me from-”
“Crow.”
“-and everything was my choice, anyway,” he snarled over Akira’s soft murmur, “I didn’t go with you, Joker, because I refused to be some- some project for you to redeem for your own self-righteous satisfaction. Or did you think after Shido, everything would be forgiven and we would all get a pathetic ~*happy ending*~?”
Akira’s jaw set stubbornly, “We would have worked something out.”
Of all the stupid-
“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Goro growled, “Worked out what? In case this false reality has screwed with your head, let me remind you: I’m a murderer who had a direct hand in killing at least two of your friends’ parents. How could that have been worked out?”
Akira didn’t answer. He just looked at him mulishly, his mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. There was a look in his eye Goro recognised - from his own reflection, hunched in front of his bathroom mirror, gripping the edges of the sink and whispering to himself his goals, a desperate kind of stubbornness, where the moment you loosened your grip or faltered, you’d-
The silence stretched and teetered. They were still nose to nose, Akira’s eyes suspiciously bright behind the lens of his glasses, the tip of his nose pink from the chill, a flush from the cold in his cheeks. Their mingled breathing plumed as bursts of white and fogged his glasses.
“It wouldn’t have been,” Goro said finally, his tone defeated, “Joker.”
“You would have turned yourself in,” Akira began softly, “When Shido confessed.”
“...”
“You would have cooperated with Sae-san,” Akira continued, his voice gaining conviction, “And you would have been given jail time, maybe, but maybe not life, because you were still a minor at the beginning.”
“Joker,” Goro whispered, pained.
“But even if you were given life,” Akira continued brutally, “I would have visited you every month, without fail. I would have waited.”
Something in Goro felt flayed open. He couldn’t look Akira in the eye. He wanted to laugh - what a pathetic fantasy that was, but at the same time his mind latched onto it, a what if, if, if, if, maybe, his luck won out for once, if, perhaps, after everything, it turned in that direction… but no, he didn’t deserve it, at all. What did he do, to deserve it?
“There’s something wrong with you,” he rasped.
“No shit,” Akira laughed, a strained, high noise that didn’t fit him.
“And now?” Goro asked despite himself, because he liked fucking torturing himself, apparently, “Since I didn’t go with you.”
“We’ve made ourselves a new deal,” Akira echoed his earlier words, and he touched him, shaking fingers cold and clumsy against Goro’s cheeks, along the cut of his jawline, and their noses bumped, lips barely touching. The moment was being yanked taut, like a tripwire ready to snap and let loose a claymore, and Goro was braced for the painful impact, breathing short and fingers curled into the open edges of Akira’s coat.
They should stop. They should stop, slam on the brakes, put down the boundaries, and the harsh, cutting words were there, coiling in his throat, but Goro didn’t speak them. He couldn’t, because Akira was kissing him, pressing him harder into the tiny little corner he was wedged in, cupping his face and fingers pushing into his hair and tasting of desperation and so warm and there and-
i’m so fucking weak.
Goro kissed back in a horrific lapse of judgement. The entire thing was fragile, Akira making soft, wounded noises like the actual act was physically painful for him, warm slide of lips, hot mouths, tentative and slow until Goro finally mustered the strength to push Akira back. Not a lot, just enough for them to part, breathing rough and choppy and cheeks flushed, eyes too dark and lips reddened.
mistake, something in Goro whispered, you have made such a big fucking mistake.
Story of his fucking life right there.
“Crow,” Akira rasped out, his voice husky and raw, “After this-”
“Save it,” Goro said, closing his eyes because he was a coward, unable to bear witness to the hopeful earnestness of Akira’s expression. His resolve was a steel-backed thing, but Akira always did have a corrosive effect on him, breaking off pieces and chunks of him and dissolving them into something else, “Let’s not make promises.”
Akira’s fingers tugged through his hair, soothing, gentle, until they rested on the nape of his neck, “I kept your glove.”
Goro opened his eyes at the non-sequitur, unwisely looked at Akira’s wry smile - his bottom lip was kiss swollen, “I should have expected that brainless sentimentality from you.”
Akira ignored the jab, “So, we already have a promise between us.”
“And what’s one more?” Goro finished, his tone tired, “Enough, Joker. Yoshizawa is waiting for us.”
Akira stared at him, dark eyes intense and scrutinising, but Goro evaded. He looked down between them, focused on breathing, gripped his resolve with an iron will and bit his bottom lip until it hurt. As always, the urge to be drawn in by Akira was overwhelming, but he couldn’t. If he did…
The yawning gap in his memories, where he stood across from his cognitive self and his army of Shadows, hand shaking and sending his aim in a skittering, wild figure 8 that wouldn’t hit the broadside of a barn… he had no illusions. After seeing Isshiki Wakaba, it all clicked into place in his mind. Why he couldn’t remember anything after that, except for walking in a dazed trance towards Sae and Akira.
It was obvious, what it was. It made Goro cold to think about, chasing away whatever warmth Akira had given him. This was all borrowed time, a cruel indulgence. It would hurt more if he got attached, if Akira got attached.
“...okay,” Akira finally said, and he stepped away, giving him room to breathe, “We’ll talk about it later.”
Later. Luckily, Goro was very good at deflection. Let’s see how far he can kick that can down the road.
“Later,” Goro echoed flatly, taking this opportunity to escape. His shoulder knocked against Akira’s as he all but bolted from the corner, cramming his shaking hands into his coat pocket and grasping for that cold exterior. If he was unpleasant enough, cold enough, dismissive enough, Akira might do the smart thing and look beyond him.
“Crow-”
“We’ve wasted enough time. Come on.”
He needed to do what was necessary, for them both.